Tenko didn't expect to wake up. The ominous dream in his apartment, the pain, the agony, the burning; it had all coalesced in his mind, rendering him content. Something had killed him, and his purgatory was talking to his Master. It wasn't like he was happy to die; really, he was quite miffed about it.

He'd learned to love his little shop, and the life it'd given him. He'd even invested into better living—those posters hadn't been cheap, after all. Still, if purgatory had been his own room, then he found he didn't mind all that much. It'd almost been peaceful, being removed from the city. Like his own little world was cut from another, set aside for him and himself alone. Sure, his Master had come to ruin it, but it'd been nice before then.

His eczema disappeared, his pinky had come back—and his grating, smoke-scored voice had lightened to that of a birdsong's. Really, he didn't have much to complain about. As far as afterlifes concerned him, that was the closest he'd get to heaven, and he knew it.

So when his eyes cracked open, blind to the world but for the dazzling light overhead, he didn't know how to feel. Correction: he didn't feel at all. From his roots to his toes, helium filled him, granting him the strength of nothing more than a balloon. There was a pressure coming from all sides, but that was it.

Drugs, he deduced. He was on a copious number of drugs—narcotics, anesthetics, opioids, probably more. Tenko didn't so much turn his head as he flopped it from side to side, searching for the fat Doctor. His fingers twitched as he attempted to raise his arm, but that was it. Helium muscles left little strength for independence.

He opened his mouth, but tasted no air. Bandages clamped it shut, along with his entire head. With another twitch of his fingers, it came to his attention that bandages covered his arms too—and if that pressure was considered, as was everything else. Only his eyes and a single finger appeared to be free.

The blinding light above wasn't like sunlight—it was far too artificial, far too sterilized. His gaze refused to focus, so even as he blinked away from the overhead light, he still couldn't quite see anything.

One thing he became certain of, however, was that the Doctor wasn't here. That bastard never would've taken such delicate care of him. Had it been his bandages, the job would've been half-done and shoddy; the man might've been a genius, but his pettiness outstretched even that. The Doctor had never forgiven him for being the favorite—and it had shone in his poor care.

Tenko's bandages were professional, thorough, and tight—too tight, in his opinion. As things stood, he was stuck.

Perhaps it was that realization that set off the alarm—his heart rate may or may not have skyrocketed, realizing his predicament. Bleary-eyed and surging with panic, it occurred to him he was in a hospital, and not the health ward of Master's compound. A hospital—a real, legal place that'd taken his blood.

He thrashed in place, or at least tried. What he managed was to flail his arm below the elbow, slapping his wrist against his sternum. Tenko heard rather than felt the squelching sound of an IV ripping out of his wrist. His agency was still negligible, but he pooled what he could manage into that single, free arm. The helium in his bones made his strength little more than a baby's, but it was enough to rip the heart monitor off his chest. He tore a dozen such wires from his body with little care and great effort—he needed to get out, before the emergency alarm alerted any nurses.

Tenko wasn't real, in the eyes of the world. Simply being here, in a hospital, put him at more risk than had he just died. Once they realized he wasn't in their systems, they'd start asking questions, and after questions came concerns, and after concerns came Tartarus.

Shouts echoed down the hall, and Tenko knew he'd wasted enough time. Though his eyes remained fogged and fuzzed, he could make out a window—and through it, freedom. He shuffled his legs to the side, intending to swing them over, but a barrier blocked them.

He gripped the railing that caged him in his bed like a cradle, but nothing happened. He blinked. With his fingers wrapped, he was borderline quirkless.

The creak of a hospital door alerted him to his failure. Nurses swarmed him, taking him by his extremities and readjusting him into position. He tried to fight back, but his strength was nothing in the face of their own.

"Holy hell," one of them said, orange scales gleaming in the sterile light. "I thought he would be under for another week! How'd he pull out an IV?"

"Mmf!" He sounded, trying to tell her off. Another nurse, this one with green feathers, hushed him. They were quick, after their initial panic wore off.

In less than a minute, his heart monitor was back on his chest, his IV in his wrist, and his oxygen on his face. The feathered nurse retrieved something from under the bed that Tenko didn't recognize as anything other than a seatbelt. Together, the team of nurses strapped it across his chest, his arms, and his ankles, effectively holding him down even more than the bandages. He squirmed, trying to grab at it with his fingers—but nothing. He was powerless.

A man held a syringe over him, peeling back the fold of bandages on his neck. He twisted back and forth, but the nurses held him down as the man drained the syringe into his neck. His jaws snapped at their wrists, but his teeth were as good as gums with his bandaged jaw. In one last act of defiance, Tenko blinked at them with all the fury of Hades and Beelzebub and Surtur, but found the fluttering of his lashes taking far more energy than usual.

He could feel the way his heart rate began to slow, could see the way his unclear view of reality grew dark with blindness. The helium in his body had melted to sludge, and he could do nothing as he succumbed. The nurses' whisperings were like fading echoes in his ears, muffled and unintelligible but for a single, crystal-clear statement.

"I'll notify Re-Destro of his fortitude. He'll be happy to know he sur…"

[x]

Tar and pavement tainted his tongue as Jin took a long drag of his cig. With an off hand, he waved away the smoke; too much would set off the fire alarm. They were calibrated to an ultra sensitivity, given the nature of the employees. The receptionist was giving him a stern side-eye from her place behind the desk, her work forgotten. Her head shook from side to side, slow and purposeful. The cigarette never left his lips. She sighed.

"Are you aware you're in a hospital, sir? I'm going to have to ask you to step outside." She said, pointing towards the exit.

"Can't," he says, grabbing a magazine from the lobby table. "'M waiting for a… my bro."

It was for interior design. On the front cover, it showed a beautiful beige living room. Good burgundy wood, soft white cottons, and a real fur rug. On the back cover was a private office; one with dark wooden shelves, green walls, and black leather chairs. They were both quite nice, in his opinion, though the receptionist didn't seem to care.

"Sir," she said, putting a phone to her ear. "I'm going to call security if you don't leave. Smoking is strictly prohibited in the lobby."

She indicated the phone once more, as if to threaten him. Jin sighed, and raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine, fine. Have it your way."

A moment later, he killed the cig on his jean's knee. With a flick, the cold smoke landed in the bin opposite to him. The receptionist gave him one last scrutinizing look, but paid him no further mind.

His knee bounced. Without the tar in his nostrils, the floral, sharp smell of the hospital burned his nose. It wasn't that it smelled bad, per say. It was just too clean.

Jin checked his watch, finding that not enough time had passed. The pages of his magazine blurred together as he flipped through it, but none caught his eye and held it. He drummed his fingers against the leather armrests, his eyes flicking this way and that.

No one else was here. It was just himself, these magazines, and the stingy receptionist. His fingers itched to grab another smoke, but with the threat of being kicked out, he knew he couldn't. He'd never forgive himself if he failed Re-Destro, after all.

"Hey!" A feminine voice called out, a bell tinkling with a newly opened door. "Mr. Bubaigawara? Your brother is ready to see you now."

Jin startled at the word "brother," but found himself nodding along. It was a genius cover story, their brotherhood, one that Jin had agreed to—but not one he'd accustomed himself to yet. Though it puzzled him as to why Re-Destro would go so far for one random man, he was happy to accept any work, so long as it made him helpful.

"Thanks, hun." He said, slipping into the opened door. She smiled at him, but there was nothing behind it. Despite her pleasantness, she was all business—a Soldier like him.

He followed the nurse back to his "brother's" room, not bothering with small talk. As it was, he focused on himself, and what he would say to his new sibling. He had his orders, but they didn't quite cover the scope of his responsibilities. What this new job entailed… confused him.

They parted ways at the door, the undercover Soldier bumping his shoulder on her way out. It was a clear sign from the up-top. "Handle it from here."

The door swung open with a drawn-out creak, and Jin saw his sibling for the second time.

Tenko "Shimura" Bubaigawara and him went way back. After their mom died, Jin raised Tenko until he was old enough to work and skipped town. They may have been brothers, but with different dads and a decade between them, they fought more than they'd loved. Several years had passed since Jin had moved on with his life; but after a tragic accident left Tenko in the hospital for months, Jin had to re-learn how to be a brother. But now with the threat of Tenko's mortality, he needed to be a better one.

It was quite the touching story, here in his Notepad app. Bullshit, sure, but touching. Sure, Jin's parents had died young, but if Tenko had really been his brother, he wouldn't have abandoned him for the world. Fact of the matter is, however, he did—or at least, now he did, on paper. In a hypothetical—but one that was also a lie made reality.

God, he needed a smoke. This shit was complicated.

Tenko was looking at him, bandaged and bruised but awake. He was disheveled, all these weeks of bedrest having made him weary. Still, it was obvious the extended stay had done him well; for one, he was alive. The last time Jin has seen the guy, he'd been broken bones and bleeding organs, crushed under a collapsed building.

"Damn," Jin said, pulling a visitor's chair up to the man's bedside. "They really got yer number here, don't they?"

His "brother" shifted in place, but not by much. He was strapped to the table like he was on death row, allowed enough wiggle room to breathe and not much else. The man was working his jaw, but made no sound. Bandages only covered half his face alongside portions of his body, but he was a mummy for the most part. Youch.

Jin looked over the shoulder, making sure no one was eavesdropping on them. From his pocket, he retrieved his smokes.

"Don't go telling on me, now. These bitches hate the sight of 'em." He said, lighting one. Tenko's attention had shifted down from his eyes to his lips, a carnivorous look in his eyes.

"W-who—"

"Smoke?" Jin asked, holding out a cig, before realizing the redundancy. The man had his arms strapped to his waist, and resided in a hospital at that. Thankfully, it was just pleasantree—yet when he pulled the offered smoke back, Tenko bucked. His singular unbandaged eye locked onto the cig with obvious yearning.

It was weird, he decided, lighting a second cigarette and sticking it in another man's mouth. Memories of another job for Re-Destro surfaced—babysitting his niece—-and reminded him of using the "airplane technique" in order to feed her applesauce.

Tension seemed to flow from the boy in waves, his alert expression deforming into one of relative comfort. In two quick drags, he was a quarter through, while Jin had barely started. He burned through his smoke in silence, staring out the window.

They coexisted like that for a few minutes, neither saying anything, neither moving. Once all that remained of Tenko's cig was the filter, however, he turned back to him. He spat the filter out, shooting a perfect three-pointer over Jin's head to the bin by the entrance. Jin followed its arc with surprised eyes, impressed.

"You've got quite the mouth, man." He said, looking back to the hospitalized boy. Tenko scrunched his singular free eyebrow.

"Piss off."

"Only providin' me more evidence for my claim, ya know."

"...Where am I? What happened to me? Why am I tied up?"

"Hospital, the Crow, and because you're a shithead patient. Any more questions?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

Though Tenko spat out the questions like a cobra's venom, Jin couldn't help but smile. Who was he? It was just about the funniest question he could've asked.

"For starters, your savior, your recruiter, and your new brother… but that's neither here nor there. How're ya feeling?"

Tenko went wide, blinking. His eyes went straight through Jin, as if the man wasn't even in the room.

"...Brother?" He asked, his voice dry and directionless.

"The boss pulled some strings, you see. You're an illegal occupant; a blank slate, for the most part. A ghost with a name. Boss wanted you alive and well, so you're now my brother under law. Always have been."

Silence hung between them as he absorbed that tidbit. His shoulders pulled inward as he leaned back, his bandaged face staring up at the ceiling.

"Why?"

"Beats me. You'll be meeting him once you're recovered, though."

That brought him out of his reverie, his bandages crinkling as he leveled his gaze on Jin.

"Thanks for the smoke, man, but the chances of me meeting your boss are about the same as me sticking around to be discharged. I don't want anything to do with your business—I just want to go back to my store. Someone's gonna need to do the morning shift."

Jin quirked an eyebrow, leaning back in his visitor's seat. The boy had more gusto than his mundane life suggested; but that didn't matter.

"I dunno what shop yer talkin' about, but if it's the one I dragged you out of, think again. She's in pieces." Jin said, kicking a leg over his knee. Tenko gaped at him, his singular free eyebrow elevating. He made to shove himself at Jin, but only managed to get whiplash from the bed straps.

"The fuck are you talking about?" He asked, snarling. Jin raised his hands in surrender, not risking a bite from the wild dog.

"I already told you, man. The Crow gotcha. Dunno what a kid like you could've done to piss 'em off, but they gotcha, your store, and your whole block. Bastards were real ruthless this time. Don't tell me ya fucked Bird-Brain's wife, eh?"

Contrary to Jin's hope, his little joke only seemed to enrage Tenko further. He began squirming harder against his straps, tearing and pulling and scraping away at them—any more fervor, and he might've started chewing.

"Bird-Brain? The Crow? What the fuck are you talking about?" He said, switching tactics. Jin only had a moment to react before the man began tearing at the bondage of his fingers. Before Tenko could free them, however, Jin leapt to his feet and snatched the offending wrist, effectively stopping his tantrum.

One of his clones had the misfortune to touch this man's gnarled hand, and met a swift death because of it. Thank the lord it hadn't been the source body, otherwise things could've gotten very ugly.

"Get a grip, man! Listen, I don't know why the fuck you're so important to our boss, but you can't be so careless with a power like that, or you won't fit in around here."

"I don't want to fit in, jackass! I want to get the fuck out!"

"Well yer gonna fuckin' have to! I'm gonna say this shit one last time: The Crow got to you. They burned your shit to the ground and left you for dead—but you're alive, and even then, you're not fucking real. The government can't protect you. You can't protect yourself. My boss has decided to lend you a helping hand, and you're gonna take it, because it's your last option."

"Who the FUCK are the Crow? You won't shut the hell up about them! And who the hell are you to tell me I can't protect myself?"

Jin paused, his grip on the young man's wrist turning loose. Who were the Crow? Did he live under a rock? Or was he just deficient up top?

He gave Tenko a squeeze on the wrist—a warning that he was about to let go, and that he expected obedience. Though Tenko bared his teeth in response, his resistance ceased. Careful to not incite the boy's wrath once again, Jin opened his inner jacket pocket before reaching within and retrieving what he came to deliver.

Tenko's eyes were cold and narrow as Jin showed its disheveled, burned face to him. Yet as the realization dawned on him, his scrunched expression went slack, his eyes alight with newfound energy.

"W-where did you get that!?" Tenko asked, his head jerking as Jin tossed it into the man's lap.

"Nah. The question is where you got it, and how the hell you don't know what it is. We found you clutching it in the rubble, so call me curious. What's a shittown clerk like you doing with the symbol of the Yakuza Empire? Don't tell me you're a runaway member."

The man seemed transfixed by the Crow's Emblem, its half-burned and torn face drawing in his whole attention. Though it was more frayed ends and rotten fabric than a proper sigil, its base aesthetic was still intact. A crow's skull, sheathing an elegant sword like King Arthur and Excaliber's Stone.

"I-I…"

"That's the Crow. Yakuza Symbol—the big ones, with the domestic terrorist nonsense. Total dickwads, by the way. Real jerks."

Tenko looked between the emblem and his face, his gaze unable to settle anywhere for long.

"...Bombers…" He whispered, his bandaged fingers clutching his bed sheets.

"What? Yeah—The Crow's been blowing shit up for years. You remember that bridge across the prefect, right? That's where it all started."

Tenko's fingers ceased their hold, their grip going slack as his eye flicked to Jin's own. He leaned back at the look; there was a gleam in his eyes that had been dormant until now.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It wasn't the bridge. Those fuckers… Chav? Chazz? Either of 'em and their boss tried hijacking my store with a bomb on a greyhound. I got it from them… I've never met anyone else."

Jin's eyes widened, feeling a sense of Deja Vu. Though he didn't recognize the names, he did recall something of a similar situation on the news outlets—of Endeavor thwarting a bomb attack on a bus.

Something was off about that story though. While it was easy to tell that the perpetrator had been Crow, there had only been a single arrest that day…

"Ah!" Jin said, the realization clicking. "You killed one of them. Shoulda just started with that—really, I'm no one to judge. I've done some stuff like that too; though I doubt my work is nearly as clean as yours. Turning people to dust must be convenient at times, eh?"

"The hell?" Tenko said, recoiling away from him. "I didn't kill nobody. And what the fuck are you talking 'bout killing people for? Aren't you an EMT or something?"

Laughter burst out of him, breaking through his face like a flooding dam. The younger man was dead silent as Jin's giggles echoed across the room, slapping against him like an insult. After a moment, his well of joy went dry, and he found himself giving Tenko a second, more scrutinizing look.

It was like watching a retro 3D movie without the glasses. Though the boy looked normal at a glance, there were discrepancies along his edges. Blues and reds fudged together, creating a disturbance that made the bare eye turn away in discomfort.

The Blues could be found along his shoulders—the way they curled inwards, the way he made them seem smaller and less full than they were. It could be found in his soft expression, quiet and focused and controlled. Jin even spotted it in his hands, strapped down as they were. One hand had lost a pinkie it seemed, and hugged his flank in a way his other arm had never considered. Only in rare instances did it break from his hip. The Blues were infused into his bones, his posture, his presentation, and yet…

Then there were the Reds, and while they were less numerous, they shined with a greater brilliance. His speech was a dead giveaway—vulgar and mean and tough. As was his non-deformed hand; it was brave, adventurous, and always moved. While the other nestled into his gut like a tired babe, this one never stopped fiddling with the straps, bandages, and itself. The most obvious of his Reds, however, was imprisoned within his pupils.

Though his expression was cool and controlled more often than not, his pupils surpassed the venom of his words a hundredfold. Within them held a fire—one that Jin could find nowhere else, not even a mirror.

"No, no, I'm not an EMT or a mercenary or some chode with a rod in my ass. I'm a Soldier of the Meta Liberation Army, and I'm here to make you a deal. Come with me." Jin said, his eyes tracing the Blues and Reds as they warped and wavered. Tenko himself did not move, but he had no consistency to speak of. In most moments, he was Blue—but then he would shift, and a sliver of Red might peak out from within. "We here at the Meta Society hold two things close to our hearts: our inalienable rights, and our leader, Re-Destro."

"...What's the deal?"

"Your shop is gone; burnt to smithereens. Therefore, your income, housing, resources, food—it's all in the shitter, and it's because of the Crow. In a way, you're lucky: if it had been anyone else to fuck you over, I wouldn't be here. We hate—scratch that, we fuckin' despise them. So, if you haven't comprehended anything out of this talk so far, get this: The enemy of our enemy is our friend; and boy howdy, that quirk of yours would be a good addition to our Army. So, the offer: Rest up. Shake hands with the Boss. Join us. Get revenge. Live a good life. Be free."

"...And if I refuse? What if I go back to civilian life and fuck off? Are you gonna blow my ass up too, now that I know about your little society?"

"And who would you spill to? You won't get within a mile of the Crow without being shot down. And since you're a legal ghost, spilling the beans to the government ain't gonna end well for ya, either. It's simple, really. Either piss off, or join us and live a better life for it."

His words hung in the air like wet clothes out to dry. Jin didn't press further, nor did Tenko go out of his way to reply; they sat together in silence, neither tense nor at ease.

"Unstrap me." Tenko said at last.

"Huh?" Jin replied, startled out of his own thoughts. The boy grunted, and made a show of pushing himself against his restraints.

"I said unstrap me, old man, I'm sick of this place. Let's go meet your fuckin' boss."

[x]

Rikiya Yotsubashi's fingers drummed against the mahogany desk, the dull thuds rebounding across the long walls of his office. His eyes, while pointed out the window, were looking at something far stranger than floating clouds and nearby birds. They settled on the non-physical, the idea, the silhouette of his soon-to-be-visiter.

Youthful, wide shoulders beset a tall frame, the power of a prince resting around his neck like a cape. He played with the idea of his hair color—would it be blonde, or auburn like his own? Perhaps, as the former prince of the underworld, it would be midnight black, reflecting his dead master's soul?

As much as he'd desired to break away from his busy schedule and give Tomura Shigaraki a personal visit, his work had swamped him. His new secretary was a darling—a true patriot of the Meta cause—but she was rather slow. Much of her work ended up falling in his lap, and he'd yet to assign her an assistant.

Despite that, however, he'd cleared his schedule. Finding out Tomura had survived was good enough news by itself, but knowing he'd agreed to meet with him? Oh, it was a miracle. From what he'd heard, the boy was volatile to a fault, and wanted nothing more than hard independence.

He'd already had a set of martinis sent to his office—one for each. Perhaps a little shallow, but who could refuse a martini? And, even if Tomura was more of a bloody-mary guy, Double would never deny a martini, especially if it was himself who offered it.

His mind was a rabbit hole of potential luxuries he could offer the wayward Prince—he'd lacked his old comforts for so long, Rikiya imagined it wouldn't be hard to sway him. The shrill chime of his door brought him out of his reverie, a three-parted knock quick behind it.

Chime for visitors, three knocks for the Meta Society. He didn't need another person walking in on his…necessary disposals.

Rikiya swallowed down that unpleasant memory with practiced ease, funneling it into the gaping mouth of Stress. The quirk purred beneath his skin for one second, then two, before dying back to white noise. It wasn't that he forgot the memory—he would never stop dreaming of the snap of her neck—but it became faded, unimportant.

It left him feeling focused as the door creaked open, revealing his guests.

Of course, there was Double, otherwise known as Jin Bubaigawara—a familiar face around the office, but with him was a far… lankier individual than he expected.

Tomura Shigaraki was in street clothes: a zip-up, dark blue hoodie and baggy cargos. They stuck out at sharp angles—new creases, rather than well-worn wrinkles. It seemed Double took him shopping before arriving, though he could've done better in terms of appropriate attire for an office.

His hair was ragged and baby blue, the tips of his bangs brushing his chin. There was an ugly paleness to him that highlighted his scars, which at a second glance appeared to just be eczema. Each limb seemed to be more bone than muscle; and the clothes might've been considered oversized, if not for how his sleeves barely touched his wrist.

If Rikiya was honest, it looked like Double had just pulled a homeless kid off the street and cleaned them up. But the boy's appearance was of no ultimate concern, and Rikiya found himself putting forward his best smile anyways.

"Welcome! Come, come, I have drinks! Double?" Rikiya said, rising to his feet. Tomura stopped in his walk, his pale hand slipping out to point all his digits at Rikiya. Double, on the other hand, only seemed to grow more at ease.

"Yes sir?" Double asked, clicking his heels together as he stopped. His agent dressed in similarly rough attire to his new guest; unlike Tomura, however, he filled his uniform to the seams, each wrinkle soft and well-worn.

"Was the trip over alright? I hope Bernedette didn't bother you again. I know she isn't Meta, but still, it's up to me as CEO to make sure things run smoothly around here."

"What the hell is "here?" Tomura cut in, slowly putting his hand back in his pocket. "Your dog didn't tell me jack about your operations. Where the hell are we?"

"Oh, I'm glad you asked! This is Detnerat. We've been making custom fashion, accessories, furniture, and hero-gear for those with strange Meta abilities for years! Around here, our dream is an accessible world for all."

Tomura's features crinkled at the term "hero-gear," but he didn't complain, only casting confused glances between Double and himself.

"And this is the headquarters for… Meta Society?"

It was like getting splashed with cold sea water, but Rikiya endured. Stress gobbled up the anxiety before it truly hit, allowing him to continue without a hitch. Still, he dedicated a stink eye to Double.

"Ah, yes. I'd have rather kept that tidbit until the end, but if Double—Jin—has already told you… Tenko… then there's no helping it. Yes, I am the leader of the Meta Liberation Army, and I hereby welcome you into our ranks."

It took considerable effort to ground out Tomura's new name, but he was proud that he managed. Really, changing his identity didn't make much sense to him. Tomura had already been a ghost, and had a better ring to it besides.

Double gave up his salute and walked over to Rikiya's desk to grab a martini. Before he could put it to his lips however, Rikiya put a hand up. It froze partway to his mouth, so Rikiya plucked the glass and replaced it among its siblings. He did his best to send his message to the man without speaking—and thankfully, it seemed to work. Double backed off, and waited for their still-lingering guest.

Tomura "Tenko" Shigaraki was still barely through the threshold, and Rikiya's common sense as a people-person was screaming. The boy—the man, was uncomfortable beyond description. Throwing another glance to Double, he waved him down just as he himself seated himself once more.

Red eyes traced his motion, frozen in his upright position just as Rikiya tucked himself back into his desk. Feeling his growing hesitation, Rikiya put on his best smile and waved him down to the guest seats.

"Come, come, sit! Enjoy a drink—correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't do much drinking as a clerk, only smoking. Well, haha, I'm sorry to say I have a no smoking policy in the building. My secretary has asthma, you see."

It was like drawing in a stray cat—Tomura was slow to approach, and he refused to walk in a straight line towards him. In his youth, Rikiya had loved catching ferals, and knew all the ways to gain the trust of such emo creatures.

He pushed the martini towards the boy as he got within an arm's length of the desk, but did no more. The choice was his and his alone—but Rikiya stacked the cards in his own favor.

Tomura sat, and sipped at the glass.

His eyes never left the boy's lips as he licked them, intrigued at the taste.

"Thanks I guess. So, what's the catch? Do I gotta get on my knees and bark like this guy, or do you want me at the register of your little…hero stores…"

"Well, I'd like to think you're worth more than clerk duties—and acting like Double isn't so bad. He's my most trusted agent, and gets to bite more often than he's forced to bark." Rikiya said, swirling his martini.

"Gigs good. Re-Destro's a good man."

"Thank you, Double. I'll take it from here."

"Sure, boss."

"In any case, I'd like you to join us—in the Meta Society, rather than Detnerat. I—"

"You want me to be a soldier or somethin', right? Your man over there gave me the briefing. The Crow or whatever fucked me over, and you're the generous billionaire that wants to offer me a fresh start—even went as far as changing my legal name. So… what the hell gives? How'd I get on your radar?"

Tomura put down his martini—still half full—and crossed his arms. Rikiya didn't make an outward reaction like sighing, but he allowed himself a click of a tongue.

Tap, tap, tap. His finger bounced against the wood of his desk as he thought. The young man before him seemed content to wait for his reply, so Rikiya made sure to take all the time he'd need. There was a trick to this situation he'd learned in his ascension to the top of the business world, but applying it here required… reconfigurations.

"You…"He began, slowing his tapping to a stop. "Encountered the Crow, an offshoot whose objective had been a public transport bombing. We here in the Meta Society pay very close attention to all such incidents. The bridge, the banks, your gas station… It's all in a file in my home office. Suffice to say, I learned of you and your…unique skill as a clerk, when one of the two men who orchestrated the bombing went missing."

Tomura's crimson eyes were slowly widening, his back sinking deeper into the cushion of his chair. At the same time, Double's own eyes shot fully open, proud surprise slipping over his features.

"I knew it! Lil' Tenko over here said he didn't do it, but I read him like a book—"

"I didn't fucking kill anybody!" Tomura said, shoving himself to his feet. "Is that what this is? You think my quirk is a good fit for your fuckin' army? Well news-flash mother fucker, I'm done with that life. I'll never kill for you. I won't be your fucking kill-dog if thats what this shit is."

"Oh! Oh, no, no, no, no!" Rikiya said, getting to his feet. Tomura's hands were out of his pockets now, and were forming an innocuous barrier between them that he knew to be deadlier than any firearm could be. "Let's not jump the gun now. I want you on my side, but not as a hired gun. I just want you on my side—hurting people is your discretion, not mine. I set the goal, you figure it out type-thing."

"That doesn't answer the real question though, fucker! Why!? Give me one god damn reason to stick around—and fuck the roof over my head bullshit. I got by fine without you." He said, throwing a glare over to Double.

Rikiya was deliberate in his movements, not showing the boy a hint of aggression as he grabbed his half-finished drink.

"One? I can think of three." Rikiya said, also picking up his own martini. Tomura looked impatient, his foot tapping ceaselessly as Rikiya tapped their glasses together.

"Oh?" He replied, watching with sharp eyes as he offered his drink back to him. "Hit me."

Rikiya nodded, feeling Stress rumble in his gut.

"One. The Crow is vengeful, and will never let you live peacefully if they figure out you're alive. Joining us can do two things: give you a protective veil, or enable yourself to act against them, should you choose." Rikiya said, reaching further in order to offer the drink. Crimson eyes flicked from his own to the drink.

"Two," Rikiya continued. "If you've ever held any love for your power or another's, you'd join us against the Crow. The true reason behind our opposition to the Crow goes beyond economics and good will: Those devils are aiming to create a gods-damned Meta Erasing serum, and as the leader in the Meta Society, I, nor any Meta users, can stand by and watch them run amuck."

Tomura, though he hid it well, flinched.

"W-what?" He asked, his hoarse voice growing even thinner. Beside them, Double coughed into a fist.

"It's as Boss said—they work on some backwater-eugenics philosophy that quirks are inherently bad. Sick shit, coming from an organization based around Bird-Brain's quirk. They—" Double began, his temper expanding as the words tumbled out of him. He might've kept going, had Rikiya not cast him another stern glance. Tomura looked between them, swallowed, and then nodded at him.

"A-alright, fuck. What's third, then?"

"...Three, is that whatever you think of the Crow, your imagination is far too miniscule. Many people imagine them to just be "All the Yakuza" and "All the Gangs" under one banner—which, in a way, they are—but their true strength lies in what they…inherited."

Perhaps Tomura could read minds, or he just had a very lucky guess, but he froze. All the tension, aggression, and anger crusted over to form a crooked, awkward statue in the middle of Rikiya's office. It was an unsteady stance; awkward enough for a breeze to topple him.

"...Inherited?" He whispered.

"Yes. When the Boogeyman fell, All for One, it was Kai Chisaki who swooped in and looted him for everything he was worth. His bio-weapons, his wealth, his subordinates… but he's missing something—or rather…"

"Someone."

"A someone, yes. A key. To the Boogeyman's thickest, most robust hammer. Before he died, I'd never given much thought to his legend, but… I promise, his hammer was almost as scary as he himself. Gigantomachia was his name, and from what I've gathered, Kai hasn't been able to tame him yet—only the Boogeyman himself could do that; him or his son, at the very least."

"You…?"

"My third reason, Tomura Shigaraki, for wanting you here, is to guarantee the Crow doesn't realize you still breathe."

[x]

AN: And thus, Tenko era begins. I'm suspecting the next couple chapters are gonna be low-view because it won't have Izuku, but I also hope that it'll end up being a paranormal liberation front type scenario where it's great in retrospect. I'm glad for all the positive reviews as well. I think we're getting back into the swing of things, but its obvious I've lost some trust lol. Some of the criticism I'm getting is valid of course, but some of what I've read has been so... surprising, I guess. Death of the author and all, but like, our thought processes can't be THAT unaligned. Like the one review saying Aizawa should've banned Izuku from U.A. completely, if he was going to do it at all-;;;-like? I thought I was perfectly clear. I know I was, actually.

I have a million replies I wish I could give some of these guest reviews lol. I usually reply to real accounts, because sometimes I have to concede to their points and other times I want them to see things from my perspective. That discussion on what I write is why I do it, in the end. That, and seeing my regulars pat me on the back, lol.

So Review~! I'm still playing with the idea of a discord, but I'm not sure. See you next week!