Chapter Seventeen – Enter Bluescreen

"It'll be fine," Lucy said confidently, nearly bumping her head as she sat up from under the desk. She adjusted her glasses with one hand, the other tucking a strand of electric-blue hair behind her ear. "Heroes never go by the docks, and even when they do, they never check abandoned buildings—unless we give them a reason to."

"Heh, heh, heh…"

She ignored the chuckle, flicking the switch on the power splitter. Her smile widened as a row of computers flickered to life, bathing the dim room in a cool, electric glow.

"We're just two friends setting up some computers," she said lightly, scooting out from under the desk and dusting herself off. She stood, hands on her hips, and admired her handiwork. "I think this should be good."

Lucy plopped down in her chair, spinning it once for good measure before flicking her finger toward the row of monitors. They lit up in perfect unison, casting a cool glow across her face. "Perfect," she muttered, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

She glanced over her shoulder at her companion, who was perched on a stack of boxes like some eerie puppet brought to life. His patchwork, ragdoll-like outfit was a crude parody of a medieval jester, made all the more unsettling by the sleek, featureless white mask that obscured his face. At the moment, he seemed utterly absorbed in fiddling with a baseball bat, its surface bristling with razors that looked like they'd been haphazardly glued on.

"Hey, Chuckles," Lucy called, turning her attention back to the glowing monitors. "I know you're having fun over there, but we do have work to do."

"Haa…" came the soft, lazy exhale from behind the mask.

Lucy rolled her eyes, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she switched each of the six monitors to different feeds of the U.A. Sports Festival. The scenes played out in stark contrast to her worn but functional setup. Her outfit—a pair of torn black jeans and a lightweight gray sweatshirt—accented with a nose ring and tattoos on her wrists and forearms made to look like the surface of a motherboard.

The monitors crackled softly, their feeds stabilizing one by one. As the Sports Festival came into focus, Lucy leaned forward, her electric-blue hair spilling over her shoulder as her fingers danced in the air in front of her as if she were using a keyboard. She zoomed in on the arena's main stage, where Midnight stood, her dramatic presence somehow even more vibrant on-screen.

"Look at them," Lucy muttered, her tone sharp with disdain. "All the future heroes in one place. It's almost like they're daring someone to do something."

"Haa…"

Lucy shot him a glance, her lips curling into a smirk. "Oh, don't worry, Chuckles. We're not here to play hero—or villain—just yet." She tapped a few keys, switching one of the feeds to focus on the audience, scanning the rows of spectators. "First, we watch. Gather data. See who's worth the trouble."

She paused, letting the glow of the monitors illuminate her face as her smirk widened into something sharper, more dangerous. "You know, I've got a reputation to build, and it's not going to happen by jumping in without a plan."

"Bluescreen," she said, her voice smooth and self-assured. "They won't see me coming until it's too late. Just like the name says—everything goes dark, and all that's left is me."

Chuckles let out a slow, eerie laugh, the sound low and disjointed.

"You're not here to critique branding," Lucy replied, her tone light but laced with warning. She turned her attention back to the screens, her focus narrowing in on a particular student—Tsuyu Asui—something about her irritated Lucy. She looked so... interesting. But she didn't act like she was unique. She acted like she was just another nobody.

"Might have just found my next hyperfixation…"