The Man Out of Time

by Ultimate10

After a 150 years in ice, Izuku Midoriya finds himself in a new world where meta-abilities or "Quirks" are the norm. His journey to becoming a modern Pro Hero will have its challenges keeping his old identity a secret, facing old and new foes, and learning to let go of the past. Does the world even need Captain America anymore? Or is he just too old-fashioned? Marvel/MHA AU World.

26. Chapter 24: The Star-Spangled Man

…

The Man Out of Time

Chapter 24

---

"Being a hero doesn't mean you're invincible. It just means that you're brave enough to stand up and do what's needed."

– Rick Riordan

---

Fort Bragg, NC - November 2042

Amidst a meticulously constructed urban training environment at Fort Bragg, Izuku Midoriya stood focused and alert. The mock cityscape around him buzzed with the orchestrated chaos of a simulated battle, echoing with orders and the sounds of engagement. He was part of a squad of Green Berets, each member exuding a blend of precision and purpose. The day's training centered on urban warfare tactics, a skill set Izuku recognized as vital for potential future confrontations.

Clad in standard combat gear, Izuku and his squad maneuvered through the cityscape, their M16 Carbines loaded with non-lethal rounds. They navigated the terrain, dotted with realistic obstacles, simulating the unpredictability of urban combat.

Sergeant Lucas, a seasoned Green Beret instructor, guided them throughout the exercise.

"In urban combat, every alley, every building, every street corner can be to your advantage. Remember, it's not just about brute strength; it's about how you use the space around you."

Izuku internalized these words, understanding their significance. The squad, including Izuku, practiced breaching techniques, efficiently entering and clearing rooms. Izuku's super-soldier capabilities made him exceptionally quick and powerful, yet he was here to refine the tactical application of these abilities.

During evasion and counter-attack drills, dummies representing enemy fighters emerged unexpectedly. While the squad took cover in a nearby alley, Izuku instinctively sought refuge behind a dumpster. Sergeant Lucas, observing their actions, offered encouragement and guidance.

"Great reflexes!" Sergeant Lucas praised. "Now, think strategically. What counters can we deploy here to shift from defense to offense?"

The squad huddled, brainstorming rapidly. Izuku, however, acted decisively. He retrieved a smoke grenade from his vest, hurling it towards the dummies. The area was quickly engulfed in a thick cloud, under which Izuku repositioned himself for a tactical advantage. Peering from his new cover, he neutralized the targets with precise shots.

"Correct, Private Midoriya!" Sergeant Lucas acknowledged with a thumbs-up. "Utilize every diversion tactic at your disposal to create opportunities."

The session progressed to disarming techniques. Izuku squared off against a Green Beret role-playing an assailant. With calculated and swift movements, he disarmed his opponent, demonstrating his improved combat skills.

As the day's training wound down, Sergeant Lucas addressed the squad with a mix of sternness and pride.

"Good work today, privates. But don't get complacent. There's always room to improve. Remember, the battlefield is constantly evolving, especially with the emergence of meta-humans. Stay sharp, stay adaptable."

The squad responded in unison, "Yes sir!"

"You're dismissed for the day."

Later…

With the day's training complete, the Green Berets recruits trudged along a gravel path back to the barracks, their conversation a low murmur of shared discontent. They cast occasional glances over their shoulders at Izuku Midoriya, who trailed behind, absorbed in reviewing documents on a clipboard.

One recruit, a tall, lean man named Jensen, broke the silence, his voice tinged with frustration. "Can you believe Midoriya? He's only been here like nine days, and he's already outperforming all of us. Makes us look like greenhorns."

Another recruit, Carter, with a dry sense of humor, quipped back. "Well, we technically are greenhorns, Jensen. But yeah, he's on a whole other level."

The group murmured in agreement, their expressions a mix of admiration and envy. A third recruit, Murphy, furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "What's his deal, anyway? Why's everything so damn easy for him? It's like he was born to do this."

"Or he has a cheat code…" A recruit named Davis leaned in, lowering his voice. "I heard a rumor... they say Midoriya might be a meta-human."

The group fell into a stunned silence before Jensen scoffed. "That's just wild talk."

But it was the quiet comment from Harper, a thoughtful and observant recruit, that brought a note of caution to the conversation. "Careful with accusations like that. You never know who's listening, and you better be sure before you label someone a Meta."

The recruits exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of Harper's words settling in. After a moment, they reached a silent agreement, nodding to one another.

"Fine," Jensen relented, "but let's just keep our distance from Midoriya for now. No sense in getting mixed up in whatever he's got going on."

Unbeknownst to them, Izuku, with his enhanced hearing, caught every word. He paused for a moment, a hint of sadness in his eyes. Letting out a quiet, despondent sigh, he refocused on the documents in his hands, resigning himself to the isolation that had grown accustomed to in his life.

---

After finishing his meal in the sparsely populated mess hall, Izuku Midoriya walked towards the barracks, his steps steady but thoughtful. Accompanying him was Staff Sergeant Ted Gray, the same recruiter he had met at the recruiting station in San Francisco; the place where had met Doctor Hatsume and began this new chapter of his life. Since then, SS Grey had been reassigned to oversee Izuku's specialized training in the All-Special Forces Training Program.

As they strolled under the dimming sky, SS Grey glanced at Izuku, his expression reflecting a mix of concern and curiosity. "I noticed you were pretty much on your own during dinner. Everything alright, Midoriya?"

Izuku let out a slow exhale, a sign of the thoughts he'd been wrestling with. "Yes, sir, everything's fine. It's just… I've been in training for several months now. How close am I to being deployed to Japan? I feel ready, sir."

That was, indeed, an understatement. In the six months since his transformation into a super-soldier, Izuku had undergone intensive training with various elite units including the Navy SEALs, Marine Raiders, Army Rangers, Night Stalkers, and the Coast Guard's DSF. His training wasn't just physical; he'd also completed SERE training and had chosen Russian for his language training, considering the ongoing war.

His enhanced abilities allowed him to absorb new skills rapidly, surpassing all initial expectations.

SS Grey paused, removing his cap to run a hand through his hair, his demeanor reflecting both admiration and caution. "You've certainly come a long way, Midoriya. Frankly, I don't think anyone's ever trained across so many special forces groups in such a short time. But remember, becoming a master is a continuous journey. You've still got time here at Fort Bragg, followed by a few weeks with the Pararescuemen."

Izuku's eyes held a glint of determination as he queried further. "And after that?"

SS Grey hesitated, his gaze shifting slightly. "That… will be a decision for the higher-ups."

Izuku nodded, understanding the protocol, "Understood, sir…"

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of SS Grey's phone. He pulled it out, his expression shifting upon seeing the caller ID.

With a deep breath, he answered. "Good evening, Senator. How can I help you?"

After a brief exchange, SS Grey turned to Izuku, phone in hand. "It's Senator Brandt. He wants to speak with you."

Confusion flickered across Izuku's face, but he accepted the phone, unmuting it. "This is Private Midoriya speaking, sir. You wanted to speak with me?"

Senator Brandt's voice, jovial and upbeat, came through the speaker. "Private Midoriya! How's the training going?"

"It's been challenging, sir, but I'm making good progress."

"That's excellent to hear! You're making us all very proud. So, I have a question for you."

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you like baseball?"

The question caught Izuku off guard, his brow arching in surprise.

---

Los Angeles, CA - November 2042

The energy at Los Angeles' iconic Dodgers Stadium was electric, buzzing with the anticipation of Game 7 of the Fall Classic, a showdown between the two blueblood franchises: the New York Yankees and the Los Angeles Dodgers. Amidst the sea of blue and white, in the bullpen, stood Zak Powers, a figure of confidence and prowess.

Zak, at five-foot-eleven (156 cm) with a well-defined physique, was the epitome of a natural athlete, his years of rigorous training evident in his lean frame. His brown hair fell casually over his right eye, partially obscuring his hazel gaze that was fixed on the field ahead. The tanned skin of his face showed a trace of arrogance, a byproduct of years of accolades and adulation.

As he warmed up, his mind was a whirlwind of ambition. This was his moment – the climax of a sensational rookie season that had catapulted him from the minors to the majors in record time, making him the most talked-about pitcher in the league.

'This is it. This'll be my first championship as a pro.' Zak thought to himself. 'After this, there'll be no stopping me. I'll be more than just a sensation; I'll be a legend.'

Amidst his reverie, one of the assistant coaches approached, his expression serious. "Powers, I know you've made your mark with your fastball, but you need to work on your breaking balls a bit more. The Yankees lineup is no joke, especially their leadoff."

Zak's sneer was almost immediate. "No need, coach. My fastball is all I'll need tonight. Trust me."

The coach, accustomed to Zak's arrogance yet still hopeful for his growth, sighed silently. Despite his frustration, he couldn't argue much; Zak had been phenomenal throughout the season.

As Zak resumed his practice, the coach's thoughts lingered, 'No pitcher is unhittable, kid. You'll learn that someday. I just hope it's not the hard way, and certainly not tonight.'

Unaware of the coach's silent hopes, Zak entered his windup and pitched another fastball, leaving another indention in the padded wall along with the others he had left previously.

A flash of disdain crossed Zak's face as the coach's words echoed advice from a past he preferred to forget.

"You really should expand your pitches, Zak." The words of ten-year-old Izuku echoed in his mind. "I mean, even the best pitchers have breaking balls they can throw when they need to."

"Shut up, Zuku!" Ten-year-old Zak barked back. "My Power-Ball is the only pitch I'll ever need. It's unhittable!"

Zak furrowed his brows, determined. 'I've made it this far doing things my way, and I'll only go further by the end of tonight.'

---

The night air was crisp as the sleek limousine pulled up to Dodgers Stadium. Izuku Midoriya stepped out, dressed impeccably in his U.S. Army Mess Dress Uniform. He followed Senator Brandt along an exclusive, roped off path leading to a luxury suite, the atmosphere buzzing with the excitement of the impending game.

Senator Brandt was in his element, chatting animatedly as they walked–donning a Dodgers uniform with the number 1 and the name 'POWERS' emblazoned on the back.

"You're in for a treat, Private Midoriya. The pitcher starting tonight is a fireballer, straight from the minors to the majors. A real sensation!"

"Yes, sir. I've heard things about him…" Izuku's thoughts briefly drifted back to his complex past with Zak.

Though he would prefer to move on with his life without Zak in it, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious to see how his former friend would perform under the pressure of baseball's biggest game: Game 7 of the World Series.

Upon entering the suite, they were greeted by a gathering of distinguished guests, a mix of political and social elites. Senator Brandt wasted no time in introducing Izuku.

"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the young man who saved my life during that meta-human attack on Fort Erskine, Private Izuku Midoriya. This kid's an American hero in the making. He's the standout of the SSR's super-soldier program, a project I had the foresight to fund."

Izuku, maintaining a composed exterior, offered polite smiles and handshakes to the guests. However, internally, he felt a surge of discomfort. He knew the reality – that Colonel Phillips had been the one to convince Senator Brandt to fund the project. Moreover, it was Teruko Hatsume who had truly believed in him from the beginning!

As Senator Brandt continued to bask in the glow of self-adulation, discussing Project A.M.P with the guests, Izuku's frustration grew. 'So, this is the real reason for the invitation,' he thought, realizing the Senator's intentions to enhance his political stature, especially with elections looming.

"Without my vote, the Strategic Scientific Reserve's endeavors would have never taken place." Senator Brandt boldly declared. "It takes vision to see the potential in such groundbreaking projects, I tell you."

Izuku's gaze shifted away from the political charade, finding solace in the view of the stadium. The sea of blue-and-white-clad Dodger fans buzzed with anticipation, a stark contrast to the political maneuvering within the suite. The National Anthem would soon play, signaling the start of the game. He focused on that, a welcome distraction from the unpleasant reality of being a pawn in political games.

Inwardly, Izuku steeled himself. 'Just bear through it, soldier. You've endured worse,' he reminded himself, his thoughts drifting to his friends - Peggy, Bucky, Sharon, James, Nick, and Namor. Their faces bolstered his resolve. 'If not for yourself, then do it for theirs.'

---

The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, charged with the tension of a World Series game hanging in the balance. It was the top of the ninth inning, and the scoreboard displayed a tense 0-0 tie.

In the luxury suite, Senator Brandt and his guests watched with rapt attention as Zak Powers, the rookie sensation, dominated the pitcher's mound. He had pitched a no-hitter so far, the Yankees managing only a few foul balls against his formidable throws.

One of the guests, peering through a pair of binoculars, remarked with a hint of skepticism, "Power's pitching speed is almost too good to be true. Seems a bit unnatural, don't you think?"

Senator Brandt laughed it off, his eyes fixed on the field. "Nonsense! The kid's just talented. If only our batters could match his performance..."

Izuku, sitting quietly at the periphery of the group, observed the game with a discerning eye. He was careful not to reveal too much about Zak's true nature as a meta-human. Despite his reservations, he couldn't help but analyze the unfolding game.

"I wouldn't underestimate New York's lineup," Izuku commented softly, more to himself than anyone else. "They're starting to adjust to Powers's style. Those foul balls are a sign. Their leadoff hitter's coming to the plate too."

"Brock Armstrong." A guest said. "That kid's on fire too. He broke Aaron Judge's homerun record this year, and he's a rookie to boot!"

"Heh," Brandt leaned forward, exuding confidence, "it'll be fine. Powers will put this guy away like the last time."

Meanwhile, on the field, Zak Powers exuded confidence with each pitch. He was in his element, the mound his domain. Yet beneath his cool exterior, frustration simmered. 'Just one run... that's all we need to seal this,' he thought, eyeing the scoreboard.

The Yankees' best hitter, Brock Armstrong, approached the plate, the only player who had managed to make some contact with Zak's pitches, albeit only fouls. As he settled into the batter's box, he gave a nod to the umpire and then fixed his gaze on Zak. 'This guy's got a golden arm, no sign of tiring. But something's off,' Brock mused, gripping his bat tightly.

Zak, determined to maintain his no-hitter, launched a fastball in the bottom inside corner of the strike zone. Brock watched it zoom by, unswayed. The catcher, sensing a shift in the batter's strategy, signaled for a changeup.

Annoyed by the suggestion, Zak shook his head vehemently. 'No way. I've struck this loser out twice with my fastball.'

He threw another fastball, but this time, Brock anticipated it perfectly. The bat connected with a sharp crack, sending the ball flying high and hitting the outside of the foul pole, mere inches away from being a home run.

The crowd gasped, the near miss sending a ripple of anxiousness through the stadium.

Zak scoffed under his breath, "Just a lucky swing."

The manager and catcher both signaled insistently for a slider, but Zak was unyielding. 'I know what I'm doing dammit! Let me pitch my way.'

Brock, noticing the pitcher's mounting frustration, readied himself for the next pitch with a confident smirk. 'He's sticking to the fastball. I've got him now.'

Zak, his jaw set, entered his windup for another powerful fastball. 'Two outs. Two strikes. This is it. The start of my journey.'

The catcher tensed, reflexively preparing for the full impact of Zak's signature pitch.

'All my strength is going into this!' Zak brought his leg down and whipped his left arm around. 'I dare you to try and hit this!'

He released the ball from his hand, sending it hurtling towards the plate at an astonishing 120 mph (193 km/h). A speed that no pitcher should be capable of throwing, and a speed that no batter should be capable of hitting.

CRACK!

Swinging his bat with all his might, Brock's bat shattered upon impact with the ball, sending it soaring high into the night sky. 'Just as I thought…' Brock thought, excitement welling up as he immediately recognized what he had done.

The stadium's majority of Dodgers fans went silent in utter disbelief while the Yankee players and fans in attendance erupted into wild cheers. The ball had left the yard straight down center field. Even the Dodgers players on the field were stunned.

Zak hadn't given up a run all season…until tonight.

Zak looked on in shocked disbelief, standing frozen on the mound. 'There's no way…' His eyes darted to Brock, who was jogging the bases. Their eyes briefly met with the Yankee player giving him a look that conveyed a hidden message.

'Does he know? Sh*t…' Clenching his fists, Zak's perspiration began to increase.

Later…

In the bottom of the ninth, despite the Dodgers' best efforts, they failed to score a run.

The final score was 1-0.

The Yankees emerged as World Series Champions, their jubilation filling the field.

Zak, meanwhile, sat on the bench, engulfed in stunned silence, his teammates offering muted consolation. They were all too stunned themselves.

The pitcher ignored them, his mind racing with his at-bat with Brock Armstrong. 'That son of a b**ch… He knows something!' His fists clenched in a mix of anger and apprehension.

With a steely resolve, Zak stood up and hastily exited the clubhouse.

---

While Yankee fans in attendance cheered and hollered, the air was thick with disappointment and speculation amongst the majority of Dodger fans following the dramatic conclusion of the Fall Classic.

Back in one of the luxury boxes, Senator Brandt, visibly frustrated, cursed under his breath. "Ah, dammit! They had it in their hands, and they just let it slip away!" He exclaimed, unable to hide his dismay at his favorite team's loss.

Another guest, leaning against the wall with a glass of champagne in hand, chimed in thoughtfully, "You know, Private Midoriya was right. Powers should've mixed up his pitches a bit more. That last fastball was too predictable."

Brandt, however, was quick to dismiss the suggestion, his loyalty to the team unwavering. "Nonsense. It's not the Power's fault. The team's bats were just dead tonight. No support for the kid's incredible pitching."

The conversation took a turn as another figure, an older man with a keen eye for the game, raised an eyebrow and added, "Speaking of his pitching, did you see that? A 120 mile-per-hour pitch? That's not just talent; it's unheard of. No pitcher in the history of baseball, not even the greats, could reach that mark."

Izuku, who had been silently observing the exchanges, felt a growing sense of unease. 'Zak, why did you throw with all your strength?! Now everyone's going to be suspicious,' he thought, concern etching his face.

Senator Brandt scoffed, "Please, it's just raw talent. Nothing more."

Another guest, a younger woman with a playful tone, teased, "I bet you wouldn't be saying that if Powers was playing for another team. Like say, the Giants, for instance."

Brandt glared at the woman. "Don't even joke about that."

Izuku's attention was drawn back to the field, where Brock Armstrong was being awarded the World Series MVP trophy. He watched intently as Brock lifted the trophy, a sense of realization dawning on him. 'How could he hit a ball going that fast? Unless...' His thoughts were abruptly interrupted.

"Let's get going, Private," Brandt said, gesturing towards the exit. "I'd rather not watch the Yankees celebrate any longer than necessary."

"Yes sir."

As they began to leave the suite, one of the guests quietly excused himself. Stopping around a secluded corner, he pulled out his phone.

"Hey, did you watch the game? That rookie pitcher for the Dodgers, Zak Powers... There's no doubt about it, he's one of them. And I'm pretty sure the Yankees' best hitter is too," he whispered into the phone, a sly grin spreading across his face as the person on the other end spoke. "Make sure the right people know. After tonight, the world won't be able to ignore the danger of meta-humans."

Ending the call, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and left with a sense of satisfaction.

---

The night air at Dodgers Stadium buzzed with the post-game excitement of the Yankees' victory. Amidst the frenzy of media and players celebrating, Zak Powers, dressed in inconspicuous attire with his head concealed by a hoodie, approached Brock Armstrong, his expression a mix of anger and suspicion.

"Hey…We need to talk," Zak said, his voice barely containing his unease.

Brock, glancing at Zak suspiciously, nodded in agreement. Together, they moved to the other side of the team bus, seeking the anonymity of the shadows.

Once secluded, Zak's voice dropped to a whisper, laced with accusation. "Alright, Armstrong, out with it. You're one of them, aren't you?"

Brock leaned against the bus with a casual air, smirking. "One of them, Powers? You'll have to be more specific."

Zak's right hand tightened around an object in his hoodie pocket, his frustration mounting. "Don't play dumb! Regular people can't track that kind of fastball…and I refuse to believe that hit was just luck."

Brock straightened up, countering Zak's accusation with his own. "Right… Just like no regular person can throw a ball that fast. Tell me, what is your ability anyway?"

"Power."

Brock wasn't amused. "Seriously?"

Zak shrugged, keeping his hands in his hoodie pockets. "That's as much as I can say about it. What about you?"

"If you must know," Brock kept his voice down, "I can track and process things a bit faster than normal people." He tapped his head, smirking, "No one else would be able to track that fastball of yours, except me."

Zak narrowed his gaze. 'So his Meta-Ability is all mental, huh? Not enhanced strength… Still that does beg the question…'

"Then why did you wait to hit my pitch till the top of the ninth…in Game 7?" Zak snarled, bristling over the revelation that Brock had been playing him from the beginning.

Brock shrugged. "Sports is all about entertainment, man. Plus, I can't hit a homer every at-bat, otherwise, people will get suspicious. You know this." His tone then softened, hinting at an unspoken understanding. "Listen, Powers, as long as you keep quiet, I'll do the same. People like us, we need to watch each other's backs."

Before Zak could digest Brock's proposition, a disturbance from the crowd nearby caught their attention. The air was filled with shouts of anger and disbelief.

Looking towards the commotion, Brock's smirk faltered. "Looks like your fans aren't too happy. Tough loss to swallow, I guess."

Zak peered into the crowd and realized that their anger was not about the game. It was something more.

"They're meta-humans!" came a shout, followed by another, "ESPN just broke the story! Armstrong and Powers are frauds!"

The accusations reverberated through the air, intensifying the crowd's fury. "Damn Metas are ruining sports now too!"

Brock and Zak exchanged a shocked glance. Their secret was out, and chaos was unfurling rapidly around them.

Brock's teammates confronted him with disbelief and anger. "Is it true?!"

Brock, visibly unnerved, tried to defuse the situation. "Hey, easy fellas. It's not what it looks like."

But his teammates were relentless. "What do you mean? Are you a Meta or not?!"

"All the runs you scored…all the records you broke…Did you have a Meta-Ability to help you this whole time?!"

As Brock grappled with his incredulous teammates, Zak saw his chance to escape. He weaved through the parked cars, keeping his head low. In his haste, he collided with someone.

"Hey, watch it!" The person snapped.

Zak, startled, mumbled an apology, but froze upon seeing the man's appearance. The stranger had an uncanny resemblance to a jellyfish. Though mostly concealed by a long dark raincoat, his arms were replaced with long, bluish-white tentacles that resembled those of a deep-sea jellyfish. These tentacles were translucent, revealing a complex network of bio-luminescent veins that pulsed with a soft, eerie glow. The tips of the tentacles crackled with bio-electricity, emitting occasional sparks that illuminated his surroundings in a ghostly light. His face retained human features but bore an expression that was often cold and detached.

Zak's inner alarm bells rang. 'W-what the hell is this freak?!'

The jellyfish-man sneered at Zak's reaction. "What's with that look, punk?"

"N-Nothing…" Zak stammered, trying to maintain composure. "I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry…" He hated to apologize, but confrontation was the last thing he needed.

The man's annoyance was evident, but before he could retaliate, one of his companions intervened. "Let it go, Wade. This nobody ain't worth our time."

He was a fortress of man with his entire body covered in a rugged, rocky exoskeleton, resembling a walking sculpture carved out of granite. The stone covering his body was a mosaic of various shades of gray, with hints of darker veins running through like fault lines. Each of his movements were accompanied by a subtle grinding sound, as if tectonic plates were shifting with his every gesture.

"Yesss," the third figure hissed in a raspy, feminine voice, "I can see the Yankee bussses over there. Armssstrong's bound to be there."

She had an appearance that was both mesmerizing and unsettling, resembling a humanoid snake. Her skin had a subtle, scaly texture, reminiscent of a serpent, and was tinted with a greenish hue that seemed to shift in different lights. Instead of conventional human arms, her limbs were replaced with elongated snake heads, complete with flickering tongues and piercing, reptilian eyes. These snake heads had fangs dripped with acidic venom that shimmered dangerously. Her own eyes mirrored those of her snake limbs, giving her a hypnotic, almost otherworldly gaze. Her movements were fluid and graceful, akin to a serpent slithering effortlessly along the ground.

The jellyfish-looking man, Wade, briefly looked between Zak and his two compatriots in contemplation before scoffing. "Whatever." He placed the end of his tentacles back in his coat's pockets. "We got bigger fish to fry anyway. Count yourself lucky, punk."

Wade brushed past Zak before resuming his walk with his two companions.

"Wonder what Armstrong's ability is," the rock-man said curiously.

"Maybe it's his name's sssake like yours, Peter. Strong Arms, hehehe," the snake-woman chuckled.

"Doesn't matter. Imma fry that bastard for hitting that homer." Wade snarled angrily. "Lost so much damn money on losing that bet."

"That's what you get for gambling…" Peter sighed exasperatedly.

Zak sighed deeply in relief. "Tough break, Armstrong. Shouldn't have hit my pitch, you damn moron." He murmured under his breath as he continued walking away.

However, the snake-woman, with her heightened senses, overheard Zak. "Hmm? What was that?"

Zak froze, shocked. 'Sh*t! Did that ugly heifer actually hear me?!'

Peter and Wade turned, intrigued. "What is it, Serena?"

The snake-woman, Serena, fixed her gaze on Zak. "You," she said, "turn around and show us your face."

With his heart pounding in his chest, Zak made a split-second decision. With a swift movement, he pulled an object from his hoodie pocket and hurled it with all his might at the biggest of the three mutants confronting him. The baseball flew through the air, striking the stone-covered man, Peter, squarely in the chest.

"Oof!" Peter grunted, momentarily stunned by the unexpected impact. "What was—"

Seizing the moment, Zak broke into a frantic sprint, his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. His mind was singularly focused on reaching the safety of Dodger Stadium, where his car was parked in a private lot.

'Just need to get out of here,' he thought desperately.

However, Zak's string of bad luck was far from over. Midway through his escape, a sharp pain shot through his right leg, sending him tumbling to the ground. The cause of his agony was quickly revealed as Serena, quick and lethal as her namesake, struck with her snake-head arm, injecting her venom.

"I love it when prey runsss," Serena cooed, her voice dripping with cruel amusement.

Wade and Peter loomed over him. Peter's deep voice resonated with disapproval. "That was a bad decision, kid."

Serena, with a swift motion, revealed Zak's identity by pulling back his hoodie. Her hiss was tinged with glee. "Well, well, look who it is, fellasss? Baseball's new young face."

Wade's smirk grew as he recognized the fallen athlete. "Zak Powers. All-Time Rookie Pitcher. Unanimous National League MVP…Game 7 Choker. Fancy running into you out here."

Peter, examining the baseball Zak had thrown at him, noted the cracks in his rocky exterior from the hit. "He's the real deal. No one can throw a ball that hard and fast." He crushed the ball in his rocky hand, dropping the remnants to the ground.

Zak, writhing in pain from the venom, spat out his frustration and fear. "What the hell did you do to me, b**ch?!"

Wade's response was swift and electrifying, as a jolt from his tentacle sent Zak into further agony. "Watch your mouth, a**hat. No one talks to my friends that way."

Serena's chuckle was dark and sinister. "I injected my venom into you. Not enough to kill, just enough to make sure you don't run away, ssstud."

Zak's defiance, even in the face of overwhelming pain, was palpable. "Who the hell are you three stooges? What do you want?!"

Wade raised an eyebrow, his smirk undimmed. "You don't watch the news, do you, Choker?"

"People in the media like to call us LA's Renegadesss," Serena added, her tone mocking.

Peter shrugged, a gesture that sent small fragments of stone tumbling to the ground. "Hmm… Sounds like a sports team name, but it's cool enough, I suppose."

Wade leaned in closer, the threat in his voice unmistakable. "See, we bet so much money on the Dodgers tonight. A lot, actually. We came out here to kill that fraud Armstrong and hunt you down next. But you coming to us? That's just perfect. Now we can kill both of you frauds in the same night."

Zak, his voice trembling with fear, offered a desperate solution. "L-Look, I-I'll pay you! I got money!"

Wade's response was a calm yet cruel jolt of electricity from his tentacle.

As Zak howled in pain, his body convulsing uncontrollably, Wade's contempt was clear. "You know, out of all the people in this world, it's 'normal-looking' metas like you I can't stand."

Peter's voice rumbled, echoing the depth of their resentment. "This isn't just about money. While mutants like us are cast aside, metas like you live the good life, ignoring our struggles."

Serena's hiss was filled with venomous spite. "So much for Metas sssticking together."

"I think it's time Mister Powers here learns what it truly means to be a meta-human in this dark and unfair world." Wade sinisterly stated.

Lying on the ground, paralyzed by pain and fear, Zak stared up at the three mutants. Their eyes gleamed with malevolent intent, and he realized the full extent of his peril.

'Aw sh*t…' He mentally cursed.

---

As Izuku Midoriya, Senator Brandt, and their security detail neared the senator's limousine, parked in the vicinity of Dodgers Stadium, the din of the crowd outside resonated through the air. The mixture of cheers and commotion suggested a post-game atmosphere charged with heightened emotions.

Senator Brandt, ever observant, remarked casually, "It sounds like things are getting crazy over there." His tone was light, but his eyes scanned the area with a hint of concern.

One of the bodyguards, maintaining a vigilant stance, reassured him, "We'll make sure to avoid going out that way, sir."

Izuku, meanwhile, strained his ears, trying to decipher the nature of the uproar. The shouts, though muffled by distance, carried an undercurrent of anger, distinct from the usual post-game fervor. He thought to himself, 'What's going on out there? It can't just be people being rowdy over the game…'

Bodyguard 2, after a quick glance at his phone, leaned in to whisper to Senator Brandt, his voice tinged with urgency. "Sir, sorry to break it to you, but there's been breaking news. Zak Powers and Brock Armstrong have been exposed as meta-humans."

The senator's face registered surprise. "You can't be serious? Powers and Armstrong were seriously metas?"

Izuku's expression tightened. 'Zak knew better than to throw a ball that fast, but he let his pride get in the way.' He inwardly lamented.

Brandt let out a deep sigh, a mix of disbelief and disappointment in his voice, as he removed his Powers jersey, revealing a crisp white button-up shirt. "Though Powers was a natural born talent...Seems it was a bit too natural. What a shame."

Izuku felt a complicated mix of emotions. Despite Zak's past behavior, he couldn't help but empathize with his old friend, understanding the severe consequences this revelation would have for Zak's life moving forward.

Another bodyguard, ending a call, turned to the group with a grave look. "Police are en route. We've got reports of the Renegades causing trouble in the offsite parking area close to the Yankees team buses. For your safety, we need to leave immediately, Senator."

Izuku's attention snapped to the bodyguard. "Hold on, the Renegades?" He knew of them – a trio of mutant meta-human criminals notorious in the Los Angeles area. Their crimes ranged from petty theft to brutal homicide, and their propensity for violence was well-known.

Concerned for the safety of those near the Yankees buses, Izuku pressed for more information. "Where exactly are they?"

The bodyguard responded, "Offsite parking area, Lot 13, but—"

Without waiting for another word, Izuku took off at a sprint, his determination fueling his rapid strides.

"Wait! Private Midoriya, where are you going?" Brandt shouted.

Ignoring the senator and bodyguards shouting after him, Izuku was already sprinting out of the private, guarded parking area and into the vast public lots. He weaved his way through the thickening crowd and bumper-to-bumper traffic, his mind racing with urgency, darted through the lively tailgating lot outside Dodgers Stadium.

The air was thick with the aroma of grilling food, and the background was filled with the mingled sounds of music and televisions broadcasting the post-game show. The news of Zak Powers and Brock Armstrong being revealed as meta-humans dominated the screens, drawing animated discussions among the fans.

Amidst the chaos, a realization struck Izuku. 'It wouldn't look good for the SSR if I was identified…' He slowed down, scanning the area for something to disguise his identity.

Spotting a group of tailgaters, Izuku made a beeline towards them. The group, engrossed in the broadcast, barely noticed his approach. Izuku, wearing his army dress uniform, caught their attention as he came to a halt in front of them.

"Excuse me," Izuku began, his tone urgent but polite. "I know this is gonna sound weird, but could I please have your mask and sunglasses? Oh, and the jersey and ball cap too. It's an emergency!"

The man, a stout fellow with a beer in hand, stared at Izuku with confusion, momentarily speechless.

He wore a custom Team USA World Baseball Classic jersey that was mostly blue and littered with white stars, had red double zeroes, and a white name plate on the back that read AMERICA. On his head was a blue Dodger ball cap turned backwards, an American flag neck gaiter, and a pair of black sunglasses hanging down from his neck.

His eyes briefly flicked over Izuku's uniform, taking in the "private" insignia and SSR medal.

The man, still in a daze from the abrupt request, managed a response. "Uh, sure, but only if you trade me your jacket and cap."

Without a moment's hesitation, Izuku swiftly removed his army mess dress jacket and white cap, exchanging them for the man's baseball paraphernalia. He quickly donned the jersey, which hung loosely over his frame, placed the cap on his head, pulled the neck gaiter over his mouth and nose, and slid on the sunglasses.

The group of tailgaters watched in a mix of confusion and curiosity as Izuku, now disguised, gave them a brisk nod of thanks. "I appreciate it," he said, before darting off into the crowd.

His new get-up gave him the anonymity he needed as he continued his sprint toward Lot 13. The tailgaters, left behind, looked at each other and then at the discarded army jacket and cap.

"Did that just happen?" one of them asked, bewildered.

"Yeah, and I think I just swapped clothes with a soldier on a mission," the man in the jersey replied, still holding Izuku's jacket.

As they turned their attention back to the TV, the breaking news about the Renegades causing trouble in the Dodger's parking lot was played, making the tailgaters tense up anxiously. They weren't far from where the commotion was unfolding. Without a word, the people scrambled to get into their vehicles, not even bothering to pack up their gear.

Clad in an unassuming baseball gear, Izuku Midoriya moved through the night with an urgency that belied his nondescript appearance. He navigated the post-game chaos with the agility of a trained soldier, leaping over coolers and weaving between parked cars. His mind was laser-focused on reaching Lot 13 to confront the danger posed by the Renegades. The cacophony of celebration around him faded into a distant hum as he honed in on his target, propelled by a mix of duty and adrenaline.

The distant glow of flashing lights and the wail of emergency sirens grew increasingly pronounced as he neared the lot. Suddenly, the crack of gunfire pierced the air, followed by the urgent shouts of police officers. The atmosphere instantly turned to panic. Screams of fear erupted from the crowd as people jostled and shoved, desperately seeking safety.

Amid the chaos, Izuku's instincts kicked in. To avoid the surging crowd, he sprang onto the hood of a nearby car. His shoes clanged against the metal, drawing a few startled glances from the fleeing spectators. Without hesitation, he continued his path, bounding from one vehicle to another.

Izuku's rapid ascent across the tops of parked cars offered him a clearer view of the unfolding disaster ahead. The scene below was one of utter chaos – emergency lights flashed amidst the darkness, police officers scrambling to contain the situation, and the Renegades wreaking havoc in the center of it all.

Several vehicles were overturned, including the distinctive Yankees team bus, lying on its side like a fallen giant. Police officers, guns drawn, were desperately trying to form a perimeter, but their efforts seemed almost futile against the might of the Renegades.

Peter, the stone-clad giant, stood unfazed amidst a hail of bullets, his rocky exterior making him impervious to the gunfire. Nearby, Wade, with his electrified tentacles, was a storm personified, sending lightning bolts arcing through the air. Each bolt either stunned or fatally wounded the officers brave enough to approach. Serena, her snake-head arms writhing, spat streams of venom with deadly precision, her attacks causing chaos and injury among the ranks of law enforcement.

Amid the turmoil and wreckage of Lot 13, a group of over a dozen bystanders huddled together, a mix of fear and confusion etched on their faces. They included Yankee players, team staff, and media personnel, all caught in the Renegades' destructive wake. They were trapped by the chaos of overturned vehicles and the looming threat of the Renegades. Izuku quickly scanned the group; though visibly shaken and disheveled, they appeared to be physically unscathed, a small relief amidst the havoc.

However, sprawled on the pavement in front of them were two familiar figures. One was Brock Armstrong, the Yankees' star rookie hitter. He lay motionless, his arms twisted unnaturally and his body covered in patches of Serena's green venom.

When Izuku saw the other individual beside Brock, he felt his heart skip a beat. 'Zak?!' He internally shouted. 'What's he doing out here?!'

Sure enough, Zak laid helpless and severely injured on the pavement, with noticeable bruises and telltale signs of electric burns around his exposed shoulders and chest. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Izuku; the bully who had once made his life miserable for years growing was now in need of his help.

Izuku shook his head, refocusing on the dire situation. Despite their tumultuous past, Izuku couldn't allow his personal feelings to cloud his judgment. His training over the past six months had prepared him for moments like this.

Perched atop a car roof, the super-soldier crouched low, rapidly analyzing the scene. His eyes flicked between the trio of meta-humans, known infamously as the LA Renegades. His enhanced mind quickly cataloged their abilities, recalling the details he had meticulously noted from news reports months prior.

His attention first zeroed in on Wade Shockley. Blue lightning crackled and danced from his tentacles, striking down police officers seeking cover. 'Wade Shockley, a Mutant type. He possesses jellyfish-like traits and the ability to generate devastating bio-electricity.'

Next, his gaze shifted to Serena. She was unleashing a toxic spray of venom from her snake-head arms, emitting a foul stench that wafted even to Izuku's position. 'Serena Viper, another Mutant. Her snake-like physiology allows her to deliver deadly bites and project streams of venom.'

Gunfire redirected Izuku's attention to the final member of the group. The bullets were futile against his stone-like exterior as he nonchalantly hurled a car at the officers, sending them scattering. 'Peter Stonewall, a living fortress. His stone exoskeleton grants him immense durability and strength.'

Armed with this knowledge and a clear understanding of the scene, Izuku's mind worked at lightning speed, formulating a strategy. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, and he had to use every bit of this information and what was in his surroundings to his advantage.

"Alright, soldier. Mission: start," Izuku Midoriya whispered under his breath, his resolve steeling.

He swiftly descended from the car roof, moving with a purpose towards the vehicle's rear. Utilizing his enhanced strength, he tore open the trunk lid, dismantling the locking mechanism with brute force. He rummaged through the contents, revealing the spare tire nestled within. With a firm grip, he pulled the tire off its rim with a powerful tug, showcasing his super-soldier prowess.

'Tire. Check,' Izuku thought, placing the tire on the ground. His next move was to create a significant distraction. Spotting a nearby overturned car, he noted the fuel leaking from its undercarriage. His military training kicked in, guiding him as he carefully approached the vehicle, mindful of the spreading gasoline.

Izuku opened the car's hood and quickly assessed the engine. The battery, still intact amidst the wreckage, presented an opportunity. He detached one of the battery cables, causing sparks to fly as it brushed against the metal frame. Carefully, he directed the sparking cable towards the trail of gasoline. As the sparks met the fuel, fire erupted, tracing the gasoline back to the tank. Within moments, a massive explosion roared to life, sending flames and smoke shooting into the sky.

'Distraction. Check,' he thought, sprinting away from the fiery scene.

The explosion drew the attention of everyone in the vicinity, including the Renegades.

Peter, caught off guard, turned to Wade, a look of confusion crossing his stony face. "You should be careful where you fire your lightning, man," he chided, suspecting a misfire. "There's bound to be gas on the pavement."

Wade, perplexed, responded with a frown. "I didn't shoot over there."

Seizing the opportunity provided by the explosion's distraction, Izuku acted swiftly via sprinting towards the electrified mutant, the spare tire in hand–moving with speed and precision honed by months of rigorous training. In a fluid motion, Izuku slipped the tire over Wade's head and down to his shoulders, pinning the mutant's electrified tentacles to his sides. The rubber tire acted as a perfect insulator, effectively neutralizing Wade's dangerous bio-electricity.

"Hey! What the hell!?" Wade shouted, dumbfounded.

Stunned by this unexpected maneuver, Izuku wasted no time and delivered a powerful, precise chop to the back of Wade's neck that ensured he lost consciousness.

Wade's body slumped to the ground, rendered harmless for the moment. 'Shockley insulated. Check.'

The police officers, previously huddled behind their vehicles and makeshift barricades, momentarily ceased their defensive maneuvers. Their eyes were fixed on the extraordinary scene unfolding before them.

"Holy sh*t! Did you just see that?" one officer whispered to his colleague, barely able to conceal his astonishment.

Nearby, another officer, cautiously peering over the hood of a patrol car, couldn't help but quip, "Guess we'll have to add 'spare tires' to the standard issue gear." His attempt at humor was a thin veil over the shock of witnessing the scene.

Among the bystanders trapped in the turmoil, a sense of awed shock spread like wildfire. The Renegades had dominated the scene since their arrival, proving to be a relentless force against even the most prepared police and SWAT teams. Yet, here was a seemingly random fan, armed with nothing but quick thinking and a tire, who had managed to incapacitate one of the group's most dangerous members.

In the midst of the confusion, a reporter, hunkered down with her cameraman, seized the moment. "Hey," she whispered urgently, "is the camera still working?"

The cameraman, understanding the significance of the moment, nodded affirmatively.

"Okay, start filming. This could get interesting," she instructed, her voice low but steady.

Complying, the cameraman quickly adjusted his camera, bringing it to focus on Izuku and the tense standoff.

As Izuku stood ready, the expressions on Peter and Serena's faces shifted from intense focus to surprise, their attention now fully on him.

"What happened?!" Serena hissed, her snake-like features contorting in disbelief as she stepped away from the unconscious Zak and Brock.

Peter, composed despite the tumult, grunted in recognition of the situation. "That guy used a tire to insulate Wade's electricity," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Sound thinking."

Serena, her fury undiminished, scoffed at Peter's observation. "He can't be all that sssmart to challenge us," she remarked, before launching a stream of venom at Izuku.

Izuku, anticipating the attack, dodged nimbly, the venom splattering harmlessly beside him. "Is that the best you circus freaks can do?" he taunted, challenging them with a tone laced with bold defiance.

"Circus freaks?" Enraged by the insult, Serena bared her fangs. "That'sss it! You're dead!" She lunged forward, charging straight at Izuku with deadly intent.

Peter, realizing Serena's impulsive move, lumbered after her with a frustrated growl. "Wait, Serena! Argh!" His heavy footsteps reverberated across the ground, causing a minor tremor with each step.

Izuku, seizing the opportunity, sprinted away, weaving through the maze of parked cars, drawing Serena and Peter into a chase.

With the Renegades distracted, the police officers seized the moment and sprang into action. "Let's move, now!" one officer shouted to his colleagues. "We've got a window – get these people to safety!"

The officers who weren't severely injured quickly mobilized, ushering the bystanders away from the immediate danger zone. They moved swiftly but carefully, guiding the group to a safer distance.

"Wait! We need to film this!" The female reporter protested as the officers led her and her cameraman to safety.

"Not the time! Let's move!"

Meanwhile, one of the officers knelt by Zak and Brock and radioed for medical assistance. "We need ambulances at Dodger Stadium Lot 13, ASAP! We've got two severely injured in need of immediate medical attention!"

After running crisscross through the parked car maze to throw Serena off his trail (even if it was temporary), Izuku ducked behind an overturned white taxi lying next to another vehicle. The maze of parked cars provided both cover and constraint, a factor he needed to use to his advantage against Serena.

'Reports have claimed that Serena's venom can be deadly even if it makes skin contact. I'll need protection.' As he looked around, his gaze was drawn to the white taxi's driver side door, which had a bold blue star on it.

Izuku ripped the door off its hinges with the sound of tearing metal. Clutching the door in his left hand, he thought, 'Shield. Check.'

Nearby, a signpost caught his eye. With a firm pull, he uprooted it, asphalt crumbling at its base. 'Not ideal, but it'll have to do,' he mused, now armed with an improvised spear.

Suddenly, Serena's voice shattered the tense silence. "Found you!" she yelled, unleashing a stream of venom from her snake-head arms. Izuku, with reflexes honed through rigorous training, raised the door in defense. The venom splashed against the metal, fizzling harmlessly.

Izuku weaved through the cars, using them as barriers against Serena's relentless venom sprays. She soon realized her venom was running low and shifted tactics, leaping over cars to close the distance and lash out with her arms.

"You think you're sssome hero? Sssaving the day with ssscraps and trasssh?" Serena sneered, her attacks swift and deadly.

Izuku, unphased, parried with the door and jabbed with his makeshift spear. "Heroes do what's needed, with whatever they have," he retorted confidently.

"Isss that what you think you are?" Serena laughed mockingly. "This isssn't sssome comic book. The real world has no heroes – only people trying to sssurvive day by day."

"Maybe you're right, but some of us choose to make a difference regardless," Izuku replied, his determination unwavering.

Amidst their clash, the sound of cars being shoved aside signaled Peter's arrival.

Izuku quickly formulated a plan.

"You know," he said, dodging another of Serena's swipes, "your melee attacks aren't too effective here. Why not shoot more venom? Is it because you're running out?"

In a rage, Serena unleashed a final torrent of venom, but Izuku dove out of the way, redirecting the spray towards Peter. However, Peter, with his rocky exterior, remained unaffected. He glanced at Serena, annoyance evident in his stony features. "Lucky I have thick skin," he grumbled.

Izuku furrowed his brow. 'Should've known that wouldn't work. His rock skin protects him from bullets.' He then took note of the gaps in his exoskeleton; specifically, the indented cratered area on his chest. Had something managed to damage him earlier?

He narrowly evaded a devastating swipe from the stone colossus whose attack was so forceful it sent a nearby car tumbling across other parked cars.

At that moment, Serena, swift and venomous, joined the fray. She launched a series of rapid attacks, her snake-head arms darting towards Izuku with lethal intent. Izuku, shield at the ready, parried her venomous strikes, each block resonating with the sound of clashing metal.

Peter, capitalizing on the distraction, charged with the weight of a landslide. His massive fist connected with Izuku's shield, the impact propelling Izuku backward with tremendous force. His baseball cap went flying off his head while his sunglasses came off.

Izuku collided with the side of a pickup truck, his body denting the metal upon impact. He crumpled to his knees, gasping from the blow. His battered shield and makeshift spear clattered to the ground beside him.

Peter, aware of the escalating situation, urged his companion to retreat. "C'mon, let's get Wade and go! The longer we stay, the more cops that'll show."

But Serena, driven by a desire for vengeance, refused to back down. "Not until I kill him!" she declared; her eyes fixed on Izuku with lethal intent.

Struggling to his feet and leaning against the truck for support, Izuku braced himself for her attack. He narrowly dodged a strike from one of her snakeheads, which punctured the truck's paneling, leaving behind oozing green venom.

Izuku, recalling his training in close-quarters combat, expertly dodged and parried Serena's relentless attacks, each move calculated to avoid her venomous touch.

Frustrated with each missed strike, Serena lunged forward, aiming for a hit that she couldn't miss. But Izuku, showcasing his exceptional reflexes, caught her right snakehead arm at the base, preventing it from striking. As she attacked with her other arm, Izuku mirrored his earlier move, seizing her other snakehead arm.

Gripping her wrists tightly, Izuku caused Serena to cry out in pain. Seizing the moment, he pulled her forward and delivered a powerful knee strike to her solar plexus. Serena gasped, a mix of blood and spit escaping her mouth from the force of the blow.

As she doubled over in pain, Izuku quickly released her arms and executed a precise roundhouse kick to her reptilian face. Mindful of super-strength, Izuku made sure to hold back enough for it not to be fatal. Still, the impact sent her sprawling to the ground, rendering the snake-woman unconscious by the swift and decisive strike.

'Viper neutralized. Check.' The super-soldier didn't have a chance to rest though before diving forward to avoid being smashed into the pavement by Peter, who's blow created cracks and a gaping hole beneath his huge, rocky fists.

"Serena and Wade are both reckless, but they're still my only friends." Peter declared, his voice echoing with a mix of anger and regret. "Can't tolerate others hurting them."

Izuku countered, "I respect that, but they bring this upon themselves by choosing to hurt innocents."

Peter scoffed, "There are no innocents," before charging straight for Izuku.

As this fight played out, across Lot 13, police officers worked diligently to evacuate bystanders from the dangerous crossfire. Amidst this chaos, Wade was beginning to stir from unconsciousness.

Confused and disoriented, Wade found himself pinned to the ground, a heavy tire wrapped around his arms, effectively immobilizing him and rendering his electric abilities useless. With a grimace of frustration, he began to contort his jellyfish-like body, slowly wriggling and squeezing his way out from under the tire.

A police officer, noticing Wade's escape attempt, quickly approached and stood over him. The officer's gun was trained directly at Wade's face, his voice stern and unyielding. "Don't move! If you try anything, I'll shoot!"

Wade, however, remained unfazed. With a look of disdain, he glanced up at the officer. In an instant, a bolt of electricity shot from his tentacles, striking the officer in the chest. The officer collapsed, his life extinguished in a flash.

Wade rose to his feet, brushing himself off with a sneer. "Can't move faster than lightning, pig," he muttered disdainfully.

He then surveyed the scene around him, his gaze landed on the medical personnel attending to Zak and Brock, who were still unconscious. A malicious grin spread across his face, his mind already plotting his next move in the chaos.

Meanwhile, in a graveyard of twisted metal and overturned vehicles, Izuku and the stone giant of the Renegades were engaged in a tense and dangerous dance. Izuku darted between cars, using every bit of agility and tactical acumen at his disposal, while Peter pursued him relentlessly, his frustration manifesting in the form of hurled vehicles aimed in Izuku's direction.

'This guy's too strong. No way I can fight him head on.' He thought while ducking behind a vehicle, narrowly avoiding another car thrown by Peter.

As his eyes darted around for anything he could use, he caught sight of the signpost he'd been using earlier lying close by– its end still dripping with Serena's venom.

Recalling the cracked indent on Peter's chest, an idea sparked in the super-soldier's mind.

"You seem to have a level head, Mister Stonewall." Izuku called out. "Why associate yourself with criminals like the Renegades?"

Peter, halting his advance, rumbled a response. "Society's always seen me as a monster, ever since my Meta-Ability came in…even my own family. I'm just living up to what everyone expects of me."

"It's not too late to choose differently, regardless of what society says. You choose who you want to be."

Peter's reply was laced with cynicism. "Wishful thinking. The real world never accepts those who are different from them."

As Peter approached the car Izuku was presumed to be hiding behind, he found the spot was empty. In that moment of confusion, Izuku emerged from his actual hiding spot and thrust the venom-tipped end of the signpost into the cracked area in Peter's chest.

"AAARGGH!" Peter grunted in agony, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and disbelief. With a burst of raw strength, he wrenched the venom-coated signpost from his chest and flung it aside. He then lurched toward Izuku, a menacing figure despite his now waning strength.

Retreating swiftly, Izuku reached for the damaged car door he had used earlier, now lifting it once more as a makeshift shield. Peter's movements grew sluggish, and his imposing form began to sway unsteadily. Moments later, he collapsed, succumbing to the venom's potency.

Izuku, catching his breath, stood over the stone man's fallen form. 'Stonewall neutralized. That's all of–'

Piercing howls of pain echoed from across the parking lot, snapping Izuku out of his thoughts. He recognized the direction of the cries – it was from where he had last seen Wade. Instinctively, Izuku dashed towards the source of the commotion, his grip firm on the blue-starred taxi door.

The situation in Lot 13 had reached a fever pitch.

Flames ravaged several vehicles, casting a haunting orange glow across the area. Firefighters, who had rapidly responded to the emergency, were fervently battling the blaze. They maneuvered through the smoke and heat, directing powerful streams of water at the fiery inferno that crackled and roared around them.

In a stark contrast to the firefighters' life-saving efforts, Wade had seized control of a critical section of the lot. Standing amidst the chaos, his body crackled with ominous blue electrical energy, intimidating the ring of police officers who cautiously surrounded him. In point blank range of his electrical attacks were three medical first responders and the unconscious figures of Brock and Zak, now unwilling pawns in his dangerous game.

One of the first responders, their voice laced with urgency and fear, implored Wade for mercy. "Please, let us get them to the ambulances! They're not going to make it if they don't get help now!"

Wade, however, was impassive to their pleas. "I want a clear path out of here for me and my associates. Do that, and nobody else has to die… maybe." His tone was icy, his demands clear.

Amidst this tense standoff, the female reporter and her cameraman continued their coverage from a safer distance, capturing every moment of the unfolding drama.

Meanwhile, Izuku observed the situation from behind his makeshift shield, crouched behind a vehicle. His analytical gaze swept over the scene – the cautious police, the vulnerable hostages, and the dangerous Wade.

'Damn! I was sure that hit would have kept him unconscious. Still need to work on my strikes…' The soldier was still learning how much strength he should apply to his strikes for them to be effective without being fatal. 'Okay, focus. No way I can try and insulate him with a tire again… So what's my next move?'

Determining a course of action was complex; Wade's electrical powers posed a significant threat, especially with hostages involved and firefighters nearby spraying water.

Wait! Izuku snapped his head to the firefighters, noting their gear. Boots, gloves, and coats that were heavily insulated with leather and rubber.

With a plan in mind, Izuku darted towards the closest fire truck where firefighters were scrambling to uncurl the hose in response to the blaze. As Izuku approached, one firefighter mistook him for a mere civilian and attempted to intervene. "Hey, back off! This area's dangerous! You need to get to–"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I need to borrow your uniform!" Izuku implored, his voice tinged with urgency yet marked by respect. "And when I signal, I need you to use the hose on that meta-human." He gestured to Wade across the lot. "But only on my signal!"

The firefighters, initially taken aback by the request, exchanged skeptical looks. One, in particular, voiced his skepticism. "Why the hell should we listen to you?"

Before Izuku could provide an explanation, the situation rapidly deteriorated. Serena, her face contorted with unbridled rage, charged towards them, intent on destruction. "Kill! Kill! Kill!" she screamed maniacally.

Reacting swiftly, Izuku positioned himself between the firefighters and Serena, using the battered car door as a makeshift shield. The firefighters watched in alarm as Serena's venomous snakehead-arms lashed out, snapping dangerously close.

With a swift movement, Izuku charged forward and slammed it forward, hitting Serena squarely and knocking her off balance. As she stumbled back, he discarded the door and grabbed a nearby fire hose with both hands.

"Turn it on, now!" he commanded, his tone urgent and authoritative.

Understanding Izuku's intention, the firefighters quickly turned on the hose. Serena, determined to fight back, raised her arms and unleashed dual streams of venom. But the firefighters' response was immediate and powerful – a forceful jet of water shot from the hose, overpowering Serena's venom and pushing her back relentlessly.

Struggling against the overwhelming force of the water, Serena's resolve faltered. "Dammit! I'll–f**k?!" she exclaimed before being swept off her feet. She crashed to the ground, her head striking a curb block with a thud, rendering her unconscious.

"Stay down this time." Izuku said.

With the danger averted, the firefighters shut off the hose. Still holding the hose, Izuku breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to them, nodding in gratitude. "Thanks."

The firefighters, now regarding Izuku with a mix of surprise and admiration, quickly acquiesced to his earlier request. One began removing his coat and boots. "Here, you said you needed to borrow my uniform?" he said, handing them over to Izuku.

Another firefighter, remembering the plan, chimed in, "And you mentioned a signal too, right?"

Izuku nodded and gave the firefighters a decisive rundown of his plan.

Across Lot 13, Wade menacingly approached the hostages, with electricity crackling from his tentacle-like appendages. The police, aware of his lethal capabilities, were forced into a reluctant stand-down.

Wade's gaze fixated on Zak, who lay barely breathing on a stretcher, a prime target for his wrath. Aiming his electrified tentacle at the rookie pitcher, Wade barked a threat to the surrounding officers. "Back off, or I'll fry this cheater and fraud first!"

"Please, don't!" One of the responders pleaded. "He's already barely hanging on. If you shock him again, it'll kill him!"

"That won't be a problem if these pigs comply," Wade spat. Despite his outward confidence, internally he was seething with frustration and confusion. 'Where the hell did Serena and Peter go!? Did they really ditch me?' he thought furiously.

"Besides," Wade continued, pausing to glower down at Zak, "as far as I'm concerned, cheaters like this guy deserve death."

As the police tried to negotiate with Wade, hoping to de-escalate the situation, the reporter and her cameraman continued to capture the unfolding drama.

Meanwhile, lying prone on the stretcher, Zak slowly drifted back to consciousness. His mind was foggy, each thought struggling to form through the haze of pain and disorientation. His body ached profoundly, a testament to the physical abuse he had endured at the hands of the Renegades.

As awareness gradually returned, the memories of the night's events began to replay in his mind. The sharp, stinging pain of venom injections, the jolting shocks of electricity, and the relentless physical assault all merged into a nightmarish tapestry.

His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the bright lights and the flickering flames that surrounded him. The sounds of chaos – shouts, the crackling fire, and the distant wail of sirens – filled his ears.

Realizing the gravity of his situation, Zak's heart pounded in his chest. He tried to move, but his body refused to cooperate, wracked with pain and weakness. 'This can't be happening,' he thought, his mind reeling in disbelief and fear. 'This is a nightmare…'

He could faintly see the silhouette of Wade, electricity crackling around him, holding others hostage. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming, the grim reality setting in – he might not make it out alive.

'Someone...please...help me...' Zak teared up, his thoughts were a jumble of fear, regret, and a desperate hope for rescue.

"That's enough!" The sudden shout cut through the tension, drawing all eyes to its source.

Confusion spread among the crowd as they saw a figure clad in a firefighter's jacket, boots, and gloves, contrasted with a star-spangled jersey and an American flag neck gaiter. Only his eyes and short green hair were visible. He stood proudly holding the battered, blue-starred car door as a shield.

"Is that the guy from earlier?" one of the officers muttered, eyeing the newcomer warily.

The reporter, sensing a new twist in the story, nudged her cameraman. "Keep filming, this is getting even more interesting," she whispered.

Izuku stepped forward with a determined look in his eyes, addressing Wade directly. "Let them go, Mister Shockley."

Wade, recognizing Izuku as the one who had earlier immobilized him with a tire, responded with a sneer. "So, you're the tire guy. Playing superhero now, are you?" he mocked.

Unfazed, Izuku replied, "I'm just a man who won't stand by while evil triumphs."

Wade's smirk widened. "Oh, a wannabe hero, huh? You think you can take me down?"

Izuku met his gaze squarely. "I've already handled you once, and your friends aren't a threat anymore."

This revelation stunned Wade, his blue eyes widening in disbelief. The surrounding police, the hostages, and the media crew capturing the event shared his shock.

Izuku pressed on. "Stand down, Mister Shockley. No more need for violence."

Wade's face contorted with rage, and the electricity around his tentacles surged with greater intensity. "Someone always has to get hurt. Let's start with you!" he bellowed, unleashing a torrent of electricity towards Izuku.

To everyone's astonishment, the electrical attack seemed to have no effect on Izuku, who remained steadfast behind his shield. "Huh?!" Wade gasped, confusion etching his features. 'That should've been enough to take him down!'

Peering from behind his shield, Izuku explained, "This uniform is insulated. Your electricity can't touch me."

However, Wade's keen eyes noticed something – the soles of Izuku's boots were partially melted, revealing a vulnerability. A sly, malicious grin spread across Wade's face. "Insulated? Not enough apparently!" he taunted, sensing an opportunity to turn the tables.

Wade surged forward, narrowing the gap between them, and released more electricity. Izuku maintained a defensive stance as he continued backtracking despite the lightning striking his shield. Nonetheless, Izuku noted that his gloves and boots were starting to partially melt under the barrage of electricity.

'This won't hold out long! Just need to get him further away.' Izuku thought, determined.

Seizing the moment of distraction, the police officers sprang into action. They quickly moved in to shield the hostages, providing cover as the first responders hurriedly resumed their task of getting Zak and Brock to the nearby ambulances. The urgency was palpable, each movement a race against time.

"Running away?!" Wade, his frustration boiling over, shouted vehemently as he advanced. "I can't stand wannabe heroes like you, all talk and no action!"

Izuku, still backtracking under the relentless barrage, saw his opportunity. "Now!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Wade paused, momentarily confused by Izuku's shout. His confusion turned to shock as, out of the corner of his eye, noticed the firefighters redirecting their hoses towards him. The meta-human had no time to dodge as powerful jets of water hit him with full force, the unexpected deluge short-circuiting his electrical abilities.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" Wade bellowed out in agony.

Electric sparks flew wildly from his body as the water engulfed him, his powers turning against him in a dramatic display. Wade's body convulsed under the torrent before he finally collapsed to the ground, rendered unconscious by the very element that had amplified his threat.

The firefighters quickly shut off the hose, and silence fell over the scene.

"T-Tell me you got all that…?" The female reporter uttered in astonishment.

"Yeah… All of it." The cameraman nodded, equally shocked.

Izuku lowered the car door before dropping it to the ground, his breathing heavy but steady. He looked around at the subdued chaos – the hostages safe, the Renegades defeated, and the immediate danger averted.

"Mission: complete." Izuku uttered.

Relief immediately washed over him, mixed with the fatigue from the intense ordeal.

---

LA Police Station No.9

In the sterile, dimly lit interrogation room of one of Los Angeles's Police Stations, Izuku sat across from an investigator. He still adorned the baseball jersey and neck gaiter he had exchanged from a fan, albeit it now sported plenty of new tears from the battle.

The air was thick with tension as the investigator probed into the night's events at Lot 13, seeking to understand why Izuku had intervened.

Izuku's responses were brief and to the point, revealing nothing that could compromise his identity. "I'm sorry, sir. I know you're just doing your job, but I'm under orders not to disclose my identity," he stated firmly.

"A military man, huh? What branch?" the investigator pressed, trying to piece together the puzzle.

"That's classified," Izuku replied, his expression unyielding.

The interrogator was getting frustrated. "Look! We need answers. Who do I need to call for–"

The interrogation was interrupted as several people in suits stepped into the room. Senator Brandt was among them, his presence immediately altering the dynamics of the room.

Senator Brandt addressed the investigator. "This individual is free to leave," he stated authoritatively, careful not to mention Izuku by name.

Later, as Izuku and Senator Brandt walked out of the police station, Brandt spoke dryly. "Colonel Phillips won't be happy about this. You know that, right?"

Izuku remained silent, mentally preparing himself for any repercussions that might follow his actions.

Brandt, glancing at Izuku, added, "Despite breaking protocol, what you did out there... I'm proud of you, son."

Izuku, finally breaking his silence, inquired about the wellbeing of those involved in the incident. "Is everyone okay? What about the Renegades?"

Brandt sighed; the weight of the news evident in his tone. "We lost some officers, and over a dozen more are critically injured. The bystanders were relatively unharmed, thankfully. Those meta criminals are being detained…with specialized restraints."

"I see." Hearing all of this, a shadow of grief crossed Izuku's face. "What about the Dodgers pitcher, Zak Powers? He was on the scene too."

"Powers is in the ICU at McCoy General. He's fortunate to be alive from what I've been told."

He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Sir, I understand the circumstances are complicated, but may I ask a favor?"

Brandt responded, "You saved my life before, son. And after what you've done tonight... I'll do whatever I can. What do you need?"

---

McCoy General Hospital

In a quiet, sterile room of the ICU, Zak Powers lay in a hospital bed, his body a patchwork of bandages, with his left arm and right leg encased in casts. The room was dimly lit, the only significant light coming from the television playing in the background. Outside, armed guards were standing watch in case anyone else made an attempt on Zak's life.

Zak's consciousness slowly surfaced through a haze of painkillers, each breath bringing a dull reminder of his ordeal. He felt weak, his body heavy and unresponsive, the aftermath of the venom and physical trauma he had endured.

As he blinked his eyes open, the television caught his attention, which was playing breaking news from a local station.

"Breaking news from Dodgers Stadium tonight, where chaos erupted after Game 7's climactic finish. In a shocking turn of events, the infamous LA Renegades launched a violent assault on the New York Yankees team buses, endangering players, staff, and bystanders alike. Amidst this turmoil, a mysterious figure emerged, now hailed as 'The Star-Spangled Man.' This unknown hero bravely stepped into the fray, potentially averting a catastrophic outcome."

The footage showed the man in a firefighter uniform over a Team USA baseball jersey, his identity concealed, standing resolutely against Wade Shockley. He wielded a battered white car door with a blue star, an impromptu shield in the face of danger.

The reporter continued, "Witnesses at the scene report that the Star-Spangled Man, donned in a mishmash of firefighting gear and Team USA baseball garb, courageously confronted the feared meta-human faction. With valor as his only weapon, this enigmatic man succeeded in overcoming the Renegades. The footage currently on your screens captures the moment he led Wade Shockley, a well-known member of the renegade group, away from innocent hostages. In a remarkable maneuver, firefighters then intervened, dousing Shockley with water, effectively neutralizing his dangerous abilities."

Zak watched in disbelief. 'Seriously? Some random guy took on those three bastards? Who the hell is he?' he wondered, his mind racing with questions.

His train of thought was interrupted as the door to his room creaked open. A soldier stepped in, clad in an army camouflage uniform, with a black face mask covering the lower half of his face and a cap concealing his hair.

"Mister Powers? May I come in?" the soldier asked, his voice measured and calm.

Zak, still processing the influx of information and his own situation, responded with a hint of confusion. "Sure. I...guess..." he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

The soldier entered the room, softly shutting the door behind him and approached Zak's bedside. In the background, the television continued its coverage of the enigmatic hero's actions at Dodger Stadium.

The soldier, his voice tinged with concern, asked, "How are you feeling?"

Zak, lying weakly in the hospital bed, responded wearily, "...Like trash."

The soldier nodded empathetically. "You've sustained multiple fractures in your left arm and right leg, which is relatively fortunate, given that Stonewall was the one manhandling you. Puncture wounds in your right thigh; thankfully, the venom Serena Viper injected you with wasn't lethal, but the electrical assaults from Wade Shockley have left significant scarring on your chest and shoulders."

Zak's gaze fell upon his bandaged body, then shifted suspiciously to the soldier. "Isn't the doctor supposed to give me my diagnosis? Who are you?"

The soldier hesitated, realizing his oversight. "Ah, you were unconscious when I last saw you, and I was in a different outfit." He cast a brief glance at the television, where the news was still highlighting the defeat of the Renegades and the deeds of the Star-Spangled Man.

Following the soldier's gaze, Zak's eyes flickered between the television and the figure before him. The realization dawned quickly.

His hazel eyes widened in shock and recognition. "Hold on… You're that guy, aren't you? The one they're talking about on the news?"

Izuku, maintaining his disguised appearance, wordlessly nodded.

"The conclusion of the Fall Classic was marred by tragedy as a night of celebration turned into a harrowing ordeal. In a brutal attack by the Renegades, nine LAPD officers tragically lost their lives, and over thirteen others sustained critical injuries." The broadcast shifted to display the profiles of the nine fallen officers. "Adding to the night's sorrow, Brock Armstrong, the promising rookie of the New York Yankees, was also a victim of the attack. Speculations suggest that the revelation of Armstrong being a meta-human might have triggered the Renegades' targeted assault on the Yankees' team bus."

As the television broadcast continued, painting a grim picture of the night's events, Zak Powers' expression turned somber. He was acutely aware of the weight of the tragedy, and a heavy realization slowly crept over him.

"It's my fault…" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Izuku looked at Zak with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Why would you think that?" he asked gently.

Zak's eyes, filled with a deep, haunting guilt, met the soldier's. "If I hadn't let my pride take over... If I had just thrown a breaking ball at Armstrong, maybe the Dodgers could've won. Our identities as meta-humans would've stayed secret. The Renegades... they wouldn't have had a reason to attack."

Izuku listened in silence, his expression carefully neutral despite being taken aback by Zak's self-blame.

Zak's voice trembled with emotion. "Because of me, Armstrong and those officers are dead. I should've... I should've died in that parking lot."

Izuku's demeanor shifted at Zak's words. "Don't talk like that," he said firmly, a note of reprimand in his tone.

Zak's frustration and despair poured out. "Why not?! Even if I recover, my career's finished. I'm the biggest cheater in sports history. And even beyond that, my life... it's going to be a living hell, hounded by people who'll never let me forget. I might as well be dead!"

Izuku leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Listen to me, Mister Pow—Zak. Your life is worth more than your career or what others think of you. You made mistakes, yes, but that doesn't define your entire life. You have the power to change, to make things right in different ways."

Zak looked away, his emotions a tumultuous mix of regret, anger, and helplessness. The soldier's words seemed distant, almost unreal, as he grappled with the enormity of the situation and his role in it.

Izuku continued, "Surviving tonight... it's a chance. A chance to redefine who you are, to rise above your past actions. Don't waste it wishing for death."

The room fell silent, save for the low hum of the hospital equipment and the distant murmur of the television.

After what seemed like hours, Zak turned back to the soldier. "Why are you here? To give me a pep talk?"

His identity still veiled, Izuku responded, "I'm here to offer you another chance."

Reaching into his camouflage jacket, he pulled out a manila folder and handed it to Zak. "Your baseball career may be over, but there's another door open for you. One that can not only redefine your future but also help reshape the perception of meta-humans."

Zak, his expression a mix of confusion and intrigue, accepted the folder. "Why are you helping me?" he asked, looking up at the mysterious soldier.

The soldier replied with conviction, "Because I believe everyone deserves a second chance. Without that, what incentive is there to change?"

Zak's gaze lingered on the soldier, a sense of familiarity creeping in. "You remind me of someone..." he mused aloud.

The soldier tensed slightly, wondering if Zak was on the verge of recognizing him. "Yeah?"

Zak nodded. "You look like him in the face. That's about it though. You're a helluva lot bigger than he was." He momentarily paused; his expression tinged with regret. "Do I even deserve a second chance?"

"I believe you do." Izuku, still concealed behind his mask, responded gently, "and I'm sure that kid would say yes too."

Zak's eyes held a flicker of hope as he nodded in gratitude. "Thanks... I'll look at this later... when I'm not under the influence of these meds."

Izuku nodded in understanding, offering Zak a parting wish for his wellbeing. As he exited the room, he left Zak alone with his thoughts and the mysterious folder.

'Why'd he call me by my first name? Aren't military people supposed to address people with their last names?' Zak pondered. 'He talks like we know each other or something…'

Alone now, Zak turned his attention to the folder. On its cover was the emblem of the SSR, an insignia he didn't recognize. "What the hell is the SSR?" he wondered aloud; his curiosity piqued amidst the haze of his medication.

---

Yuma Proving Ground, AZ - February 2043

Soaring high above Arizona's Yuma Proving Ground, a military aircraft sliced through the azure sky. Inside, Izuku Midoriya, garbed in his parachute gear, awaited his turn with focused eyes and controlled breathing. This day marked the pinnacle of his Pararescue training, the final chapter in his comprehensive All-Special Forces Training Program.

As each soldier before him strode to the hatch and disappeared into the sky, Izuku stood watch. The idea of skydiving, once a distant, unthinkable notion, had now become a reality, reshaping him through his extensive training and experiences.

Drawing in a deep breath, Izuku relished the crisp, high-altitude air mixed with the mechanical hum of the aircraft's engines. It was a distinct sensation, teetering on the edge of a world so far removed from the ground. Upon receiving the jump signal, he advanced toward the hatch, embodying the confidence he had cultivated throughout his transformative journey.

Decisively, Izuku stepped into the open air, leaving the plane's roar behind as he plunged into the quiet rush of freefall from 30,000 feet (9144 meters). Below him, the Earth sprawled out in a vibrant mosaic of colors and contours, a breathtaking view from this lofty vantage point. The wind howled past, buffeting his body as he descended at exhilarating speed.

In the midst of the descent, Izuku found a profound sense of liberation. His body stabilized in a controlled skydive, feeling akin to a bird gliding through the sky, with every sense sharpened and every moment crystallized.

As he neared the ground, the desert's rugged landscape grew clearer. Checking his altimeter, Izuku timed his parachute deployment with precision, the act a harmonious blend of skill and trust in his training and equipment. Skillfully, he steered towards the designated landing zone, each maneuver reflecting his evolution from a trainee to a proficient paratrooper.

Touching down, Izuku managed a smooth landing, his boots kissing the earth as he pushed forward to maintain balance. A deep, satisfied sigh escaped him. 'Despite all of the training, it's still incredibly thrilling,' he thought.

Unhooking from his parachute, Izuku's mind raced through the myriad of training he had endured over the past nine months. From the grueling Navy SEALs sessions to the Coast Guard's DSF, the strategic Marine Raiders, the resilient Army Rangers, the aviation-focused Night Stalkers, and the versatile Green Berets, culminating with the Air Force Pararescuemen. Each phase had honed him, enhancing his abilities and strengthening his resolve.

Izuku was prepared, mentally and physically, for the next phase of his journey. He was ready to join the frontline in Japan, to stand with his friends and comrades in the ongoing war effort.

'I'm ready. I'll see you all soon,' he thought, his determination unwavering as he gazed into the distance.

"Specialist Midoriya!"

Izuku snapped to attention as Staff Sergeant Ted Grey walked briskly towards him.

"Relax, Specialist," Grey commanded.

Izuku eased his stance, awaiting further instructions. Grey's expression was serious, but there was a hint of something else – anticipation, perhaps.

"I've just got word from Senator Brandt," Grey began. "He's requested to meet with you personally at his residence. We're set to depart for Los Angeles at 15:00. Make sure you're packed and ready."

Izuku, slightly puzzled, acknowledged the order. "Understood, sir. May I ask, though," he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "about my deployment to Japan with the SSR? Now that my training is complete, will I be joining the effort there?"

Staff Sergeant Grey gave a non-committal shrug. "That's not my call, Specialist. My guess is that's exactly what Senator Brandt wants to discuss with you. Be prepared for anything."

Izuku nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities as he processed this unexpected development.

---

On the sprawling balcony of Senator Brandt's Los Angeles residence, Izuku stood in his immaculate US Army Service Uniform, adorned with the specialist rank patch and badges representing the elite special forces he had trained with. The air was filled with the gentle hum of the city, and the distant lights twinkled like stars fallen to earth.

Senator Brandt and Izuku stood on the balcony, the vast Los Angeles cityscape stretching out beneath them.

"It's been quite a journey since the World Series chaos," Brandt began, breaking the silence. "How have you been coping with the aftermath and your training?"

Izuku nodded, reflecting on the past four months. "It's been intense, sir. Each day presented all sorts of new challenges… But I believe those experiences have sharpened my skills and prepared me for what's ahead."

Brandt's gaze lingered on the city. "It's a relief to hear you've been forging ahead. The situation here, however, has been less straightforward. The meta-human crisis has been escalating, stirring public unrest and fear."

Izuku turned to face Brandt, his expression one of concern. "I don't have much time to stay in touch with the news, but I do know the tension between the public and meta-humans has been growing; especially after Game 7."

"Exactly," Brandt replied, his tone grave. "And that's where the heart of our problem lies. There's a lack of understanding and trust. People are scared, and the incidents are only fueling that fear. There are groups of people demanding that all meta-humans be segregated from the public, stripped of rights, and some of the extremists are advocating for them to be killed."

Izuku absorbed Brandt's words, the gravity of the situation becoming increasingly apparent. "That's horrible," he said solemnly. "Segregation or genocide? Those are paths that lead to more conflict, not resolution."

Brandt nodded; his face etched with the weight of his responsibilities. "It's a complex issue. On one hand, there are legitimate concerns about safety with meta-humans living amongst regular people, but on the other, we're facing the risk of violating fundamental human rights and freedoms. Either way, it isn't good."

"There must be a way to bridge this divide," Izuku suggested, his mind recalling all of his past historical studies while searching for potential solutions. "Fear often comes from misunderstanding. Maybe what's needed is a way to foster dialogue and empathy."

"That's a perceptive observation, Specialist Midoriya," Brandt said, turning to face him. "You see, that's where you come in."

"Me?" Izuku looked at him, bemused.

Seizing the moment, Brandt pulled out a tablet and handed it to Izuku, who watched attentively as a series of clips and interviews unfolded, each shedding light on the public perception of the "Star-Spangled Man."

"The Star-Spangled Man has become a hot topic overnight. Is he a hero stepping up in times of crisis, or just another vigilante taking the law into his own hands?" One media personality asked.

Another media personality questioned, "There's speculation he might be a meta-human. If so, does that change how we should view his actions? Is he the bridge between us and the meta-human community?"

A middle-aged woman, her eyes filled with gratitude, spoke up. "That night at Dodger Stadium, he saved lives. My family could have been caught in that chaos. To me, he's nothing short of a hero."

A stout middle-aged man, adorning Dodgers gear, excitedly claimed, "Yeah, I saw him! I traded my Team USA gear with the guy in exchange for his military jacket. There wasn't a name on it, but the guy's definitely a soldier, I tell yah!"

The next person was masked in anonymity, their figure shadowed, and voice altered. "It's heartening, you know? Seeing someone, meta-human or not, being praised for doing good. It gives me hope in these troubled times."

A young man standing on the street commented, "He's like a comic book hero come to life, man. Seeing someone stand up against those Renegade (BLEEP) was (BLEEP) awesome! Makes you think we can all do something to help."

Another anonymous figure added, "Star-Spangled Man seems to be changing the narrative. Maybe now people can start seeing us as individuals, not as threats."

A third media personality with a stern expression countered, "But let's not jump to conclusions. While his actions were commendable, operating outside the law sets a dangerous precedent. We need more information before we can label him a hero."

An elderly gentleman appeared with a smile. "In my years, I've seen a lot. But this? It gives me hope. Hope that maybe we can find a way to live together, meta-humans and regular folks alike. I dunno…" he shrugged. "Maybe it's a pipe dream, but people can dream. Can't they?"

As the montage concluded, Izuku looked up, visibly surprised by the impact of his actions. "I–I had no idea it had reached this extent," he admitted.

Brandt sighed. "I hoped the buzz would die down, but it's only grown. Your actions during the Renegades incident have painted a different narrative – a meta-human, or someone perceived as one, acting selflessly to protect others. It's a powerful image, one that contradicts the prevailing fear."

Izuku's brows furrowed in thought. "I was just doing what I felt was right, sir. I never intended to become a... talking point."

"And yet, you've become a symbol of hope for many," Brandt continued. "The public is curious about the Star-Spangled Man. They want to know who he is, see more of him in action."

Izuku, wary, asked directly, "What are you proposing, sir?"

Brandt's eyes twinkled with a hint of ambition. "I want you to become a hero of the people, Izuku."

Confusion crossed Izuku's face. "Aren't I already doing that with all my military training?"

"Yes, your military skills are invaluable," Brandt conceded. "But what we need now is a symbol. Someone the public can rally behind, a figure of hope."

Izuku furrowed his brow, concern evident in his tone. "A symbol? But what about my deployment to Japan? There's a war going on there that needs attention."

Brandt paused, weighing his words carefully. "The war is important, but so is the home front. We need someone to bridge the gap between the public and the meta-humans, to ease tensions and inspire. You can be that bridge, Izuku."

Izuku stood silently, processing the weight of the senator's words. The role proposed was far from anything he had envisioned, yet he'd agree that the need for such a figure in these tumultuous times was undeniable.

"It's a role I hadn't envisioned for myself…" As Izuku contemplated the idea, he'd admit that it resonated with him, aligning with his own values and the sense of duty that had driven him throughout his training. "...but if it can help prevent any further violence, then it is something I'd be willing to consider."

Senator Brandt extended his hand towards Izuku, his expression a blend of seriousness and a hint of satisfaction. "In that case, congratulations, Specialist Midoriya," he said firmly as their hands clasped in a firm handshake. "You're going to be promoted."

Izuku, taken aback, returned the handshake but his face mirrored his confusion. "Promoted?"

---

Los Angeles, CA – March 2043

Backstage of a large auditorium, amidst the bustle of last-minute preparations, Izuku stood in front of a full-length mirror, hesitantly adjusting the costume he was supposed to wear. The fabric felt foreign against his skin, a stark contrast to his usual military attire. He stared at his reflection, a mix of doubt and resolve in his eyes.

"I...don't know if I can do this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

One of Senator Brandt's secretaries, a well-dressed woman in her mid-thirties, approached him, her expression one of encouragement. "You'll do just fine, Captain Midoriya. Remember, you've skydived on several occasions. Speaking in front of a crowd shouldn't be a big deal compared to that."

Izuku gave a small, unconvinced smile. 'Skydiving and public speaking are two very different kinds of fears,' he thought to himself.

The secretary continued, adjusting a crease in his spandex. "This first public showing is crucial. It sets the standard moving forward and builds on the existing momentum of the 'Star-Spangled Man.' You've already made quite an impression."

Izuku sighed softly. "When I said I wanted to make a difference, this wasn't exactly how I imagined it."

The secretary nodded sympathetically. "I understand your reservations but consider this: Senator Brandt has a lot of influence on Capitol Hill. If you play your part well, you'll be leading your own platoon before you know it."

Izuku frowned. He wasn't looking to lead a platoon. He just wanted to fight alongside his comrades.

His gaze then fell on the blonde wig laid out for him. "And what's with the blonde wig?" he asked, his tone laced with a hint of exasperation.

The secretary shrugged casually. "It matches the outfit better. Plus, with the helmet, it's not like anyone will recognize you."

Izuku frowned slightly, reaching for the wig. 'In other words, it covers up my Japanese heritage,' he thought, a tinge of frustration evident in his expression.

"It also gives you a more cinematic look, you know?" the secretary added with a light-hearted tone, attempting to ease the tension.

Izuku reluctantly donned the wig, adjusting it to fit snugly before putting a helmet on over it.

With a deep breath, he picked up the last item to complete the ensemble, slipping his left arm through the shield's leather straps.

Izuku looked at himself in the mirror again, barely recognizing the person staring back at him.

The secretary gave him an encouraging nod. "It's time, Captain. Remember, you're not just representing yourself out there, but an ideal. An ideal of unity and hope."

Izuku nodded, steeling himself for the task ahead. 'You can do this. Just picture everyone in their underwear… No, that's just weird! Who came up with that anyway?'

Shaking his head, Izuku made his way to the stage, the weight of the steel shield on his arm felt heavier than usual, symbolic of the new role he was about to embrace.

---

Under the bright lights of a grand stage, set in a large auditorium filled with an eager and bustling crowd, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Banners adorned the walls, and the air was thick with excitement.

Senator Brandt stood confidently at the podium, his gaze sweeping across the eager crowd gathered in the auditorium. The anticipation in the air was palpable as he prepared to make the much-awaited introduction.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice resonating with authority and a hint of excitement. "Tonight, we gather here to witness a momentous occasion, a turning point in our nation's history. Just a few months ago, the city of Los Angeles and indeed our entire nation was rocked by the events that unfolded at Dodgers Stadium. In the face of fear and chaos, when the notorious Renegades threatened the lives of countless innocents, one individual stood up against the tide of terror."

He paused, letting his words sink in, as the audience listened with rapt attention.

"This individual, known only as the Star-Spangled Man, stepped into harm's way, not for glory or recognition, but because it was the right thing to do. He stood up against the Renegades, protecting our citizens and upholding the values we hold dear. His bravery and selflessness have become a beacon of hope in these challenging times."

The crowd murmured in agreement, many recalling the heroic actions that had been broadcasted in the news.

"And just as soon as he arrived on the scene, he disappeared without a trace. Leaving us all to speculate as to who he is and what his intentions are." A small smirk crossed the senator's face as he continued, "until tonight, that is."

This piqued the crowd's curiosity as they began to talk amongst themselves.

"It is my profound honor to introduce to you a figure who embodies the very essence of American courage and integrity. A symbol of unity and resilience, standing tall in the face of adversity. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the Star-Spangled Man himself, the one and only Captain America!"

As the curtains parted, a beam of spotlight cut through the dimmed auditorium, revealing the figure now stepping onto the stage.

Clad in a suit that was a blend of heroism and theatrical flair. His attire was a spandex ensemble, primarily in blue, with a striking white star emblazoned on the chest. The suit's midsection boasted red and white vertical stripes, reminiscent of the American flag. His sleeves, adorned with white stripes near the cuffs, flowed into red gloves extending halfway up his forearms, adding a vivid contrast to the ensemble.

His trousers, in the same vibrant blue as the top, were neatly tucked into tall, red leather boots. A utility belt, more for show than practicality, circled his waist, equipped with several pouches. The blue helmet he wore was marked by a bold white 'A' at the forefront, flanked by wing designs on either side.

But what truly completed the outfit was the iconic shield. A triangular heater shield, it was strapped to his left forearm, its design a patriotic canvas of a blue band with three white stars aligned horizontally, underlined by bold red and white stripes stretching vertically.

As Izuku made his grand entrance into the spotlight, the PA system came alive with a rousing anthem, its lyrics echoing through the auditorium.

" ~Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way?~"

" ~Who vows to fight like a man for what's right, night and day?~"

" ~Who will campaign for peace door-to-door in America?~"

" ~Carry the flag to unite all shore-to-shore in America~"

" ~From Hoboken to Spokane~"

" ~The Star-Spangled Man With a Plan!~"

The crowd's reaction was overwhelmingly positive, a surge of energy and enthusiasm filling the room. Their cheers and applause cascaded like waves, embracing this new beacon of hope and valor.

Despite the suit's theatricality and the song's nostalgic, old-fashioned tone, there was a palpable sense of relief and joy in the air. It was as if, in these dark and dreary times, the appearance of a classic superhero-like character provided a much-needed glimmer of optimism in a world grappling with uncertainty and fear.

Izuku's posture was slightly tense, betraying his nervousness. While the rest of the song played on low in the background, he approached the microphone, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Thank you," he began, his voice slightly shaky. "I…I only have two fears. The first is being incapable of helping those in need due to my own weaknesses, and the second… is public speaking."

The audience chuckled, the icebreaker lightening the mood and making Izuku smile, feeling slightly more at ease.

"As Captain America, I stand before you not as a superhero from the pages of a comic book, nor some symbol of nationalism….but as someone who believes in the power of unity and understanding," Izuku continued, his voice gaining strength. "We are at a crucial juncture in our society, where fear and misunderstanding threaten to divide us. But it doesn't have to be this way."

He paused, looking out at the diverse faces in the crowd. "Meta-humans and humans have more in common than we have differences. We share the same dreams, hopes, and desire to live in a world where we can coexist peacefully."

Izuku's initial apprehension gave way to a growing confidence, his words flowing more naturally.

"This suit, this shield, they're just symbols. But the real strength lies in each of us – in our actions, our choices to stand up for what's right, to support and understand each other."

As Izuku concluded his speech, the nervousness that had initially gripped him had all but vanished, replaced by a sense of purpose and determination. "Let us all strive to be heroes in our own right, to be brave enough to stand for what's right, and to be the change we wish to see in the world."

As he stepped back, the auditorium erupted in applause, the sound echoing through the hall. Cameras flashed, capturing this historic moment. Izuku, standing tall and resolute in his Captain America persona, had ignited a spark of hope and inspiration, marking the beginning of a new era in the narrative of meta-humans and society.

---

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's the last one for 2023!

I do apologize for this chapter's delay. Work and holidays have delayed me, and I also devoted some time to my other story.

After how the last chapter ended with the conclusion of the All-Star Games and Izuku's acceptance of One For All, I realize the events of this chapter of Izuku's story may not be as exciting…but they are important for what's to come.

For those wondering how Izuku could complete all of his training in nine months, this is where his enhanced brain and his ability to process information much faster and more efficiently comes into play.

Since Izuku is physically beyond human peak condition, it wouldn't be profitable for him to just undergo physical-based training. Izuku mostly underwent a lot of practical and combat-oriented training that involved learning skills and tactics from the special forces groups mentioned in the chapter.

So, the next chapter will pick up with the events in the Present (2197) Era and the start of the Internship/Stain arc. My goal is to have that written in like 2-3 chapters at most as I don't want to bog things down.

Note, I do have a link on my profile page featuring Izuku wearing the USO-inspired uniform. If you're curious, be sure to check it out.

Please leave any comments and critique in the review box below. Thank you for the support as always!

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!

---

Salem Center, NY – April 2197

In the subdued ambiance of a low-key bar, a rugged man with a rough exterior sat alone at the counter. His features were striking - thick, dark hair with streaks of gray, a stern jawline adorned with a heavy beard, and piercing eyes that seemed to hold countless untold stories.

He took slow, contemplative sips of his whiskey, finding solace in the quiet hum of the bar, a stark contrast to his daytime role as a teacher.

'Who would've thunk it? Me, teaching,' he thought with a touch of irony. 'Life's full of surprises.'

His attention, initially lost in thought, drifted to the television mounted in the corner. The vibrant colors and dynamic action of UA's All-Star Games flickered across the screen, accompanied by English subtitles. He spared it only a brief glance, his fluency in Japanese making the subtitles unnecessary.

'Right… Forgot UA's All-Star Games were the other day.' Uninterested, the man glanced away.

The television's display of youthful heroics and intense competition was just background noise to him, until a name broke through the ambient sounds of the bar, seizing his attention.

"Midoriya Izuku."

The name struck a chord, pausing his hand mid-sip. Intrigued, he focused on the screen. It showed a young hero, Midoriya, engaging in heated battles with opponents named Bakugo and Todoroki in a large tournament style ring. His expression, typically stoic, shifted subtly, a flicker of recognition, or perhaps confusion, passing across his face.

"It can't be..." he whispered to himself, a wave of realization beginning to crest in his mind. Memories, long dormant, began to stir, brushing against the fringes of his consciousness.

Finishing his drink in one decisive gulp, he placed a few bills on the counter and stood up. Without a backward glance, he exited the bar, a whirl of thoughts enveloping him.

Outside, he retrieved his phone from his jacket and made a call. "Hey, Professor. I need some time off. Yeah, something came up... related to my past. I appreciate it. Also, tell those brats if they misbehave while I'm away, they'll have to answer to me."

With the call concluded, he stowed his phone and approached his motorcycle. 'Japan… Why does it always have to be Japan?' He mused dryly.

Mounting the bike, he revved the engine, the sound echoing in the quiet street. As he rode away into the fading light, his mind was awash with the implications of what he had just seen.