Chapter Thirty : Final Exams Part Four

The scene was almost too fitting. Dust swirled under each step as Clay moved forward. He knew the others were watching him, and they'd all make the obvious joke about the cowboy walking into a dusty arena for a showdown. The area was a dusty, mountain-like expanse, a lot like Kentucky—except someone had taken out all the trees. They'd never let him live it down whenever he did anything even vaguely cowboy-like.

"Team Derreks and Minoru, practical exam. Ready, go!" came the voice from the speaker.

"W-What do you have loaded in there, Clay?" Mineta asked, his little hands already clutching a Pop-off.

"Double-aught buck. Rubber pellets. Aimin's overrated."

"So, you'll just shoot her, and we'll pass?"

"Somethin' like that. I guess I should be thankin' Aizawa for not putting me against Present Mic," he said, stepping over a few rocks where he saw the gate. Midnight was standing there, looking at them like a predator, her lips curling into a knowing smile. The sheer confidence in her stance told Clay that she had no intention of making this easy for them.

"Well, well," Midnight purred, her voice carrying effortlessly through the arena. "A cowboy and his… sidekick? You boys ready to dance?"

Mineta whimpered audibly, crouching low behind a boulder as if the ground itself could shield him. "Clay, she's looking right at me!"

"That must be new for you," Clay said with a chuckle.

"CLAY! Do something!"

"You got it, boss," Clay replied, raising the shotgun and firing. Midnight collapsed an instant later, the rubber pellets leaving red welts on sections of her now-exposed skin. A faint purple-pink smoke seeped off her as she picked herself up.

Clay pumped the action, watching the ejected shell hit Mineta square on the forehead.

"You really think I haven't dealt with a goon with a gun?" she asked, her whip at the ready. "You are so out of your depth!" she said, taking a slow step forward.

"God made man," Clay said flatly. "And Samuel Colt made 'em equal." With that, he fired again. Less of the pellets hit their mark, which left Midnight still standing, though with a few new holes in her costume, thus pumping out more of that sweet-smelling fog.

"Mineta, see if you can get around her," Clay muttered as he pumped the action again. Skipper chittered a warning on his shoulder, but it was already too late. The unmistakable creak of leather on leather broke the silence, and Clay turned his head just in time to see the end of Midnight's whip wrapping around the barrel. Moments later, the shotgun was out of his hands.

Now disarmed, Clay watched as Midnight held the shotgun. From the way she gripped it, he could tell she wasn't particularly familiar with firearms, but it was still more than enough to send Mineta running.

"Any chance I could have that back?" Clay asked, letting an arm fall to his side as a steady stream of rats pooled at his ankles.

Midnight licked her lips, leveling Clay's own shotgun at him. "Beg for me, boy. I have an itch that must be scratched… If I see someone truly helpless, my sadistic side gets so riled up that it can't sit still…"

Clay could hear the stirring of dust and rocks in the distance. Mineta was doing something. "You should never be allowed within a mile of a child," Clay muttered, eying the shotgun warily. If she wasn't playing with her food, I'd be shot by now, Clay thought.

Midnight laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver through the dry air. "Oh, sweet boy, the only thing keeping me near you is how much fun I'm having." She spun the shotgun with surprising dexterity, letting it rest on her shoulder like a toy. "Now, how about you drop to your knees and plead properly? Or is your cowboy pride too strong for that?"

Either Midnight didn't notice the contingent of rats, or she didn't care. When Clay looked down, he saw all of them asleep. Even the ever-vigilant Alert was lying on his side, sound asleep. He could tell from the shifting weight on his shoulder that Skipper was getting sleepy as well.

Just keep talkin', Clay… Mineta's probably—

A thump. Clay turned his head just in time to see Mineta collapse to the ground. Looked like the pink smoke had gotten to him.

To make matters worse, Midnight was taking steady steps forward, the heels of her boots clacking against the dusty stone beneath her.

"Well, uh…" Clay muttered, feeling sweat bead on his forehead. It had been a while since he'd been in this bad a situation. Clay might have been a trained fighter when it came to bar brawls, but Midnight was a few steps above that.

"You think that bandana will keep you awake? It's so cute when you try to think," she purred. By now, she was close enough that the shotgun was irrelevant, except for the psychological toll it took on Clay just seeing it in her hands.

"Beg for me," she whispered. "Sweet little boy…"

Clay bent one of his knees, his hand brushing against the ground as he gripped a clump of dust.

"That's it! Kneel! Now, tell me—"

Midnight was interrupted by a fistful of dirt being launched into her face. She barely had time to rub the dust out of her eyes before Clay was already back on his feet, his hand gripping the barrel of his shotgun.

It was a brutal struggle. Clay took several hits as he did his best to keep Midnight contained. He couldn't bring himself to hit her, but with every sharp jab to his side, he was getting closer to being willing. It was unfortunate that Clay had decided to leave Mineta with the cuffs. He knew that if Midnight managed to pull his bandanna off, the fight was as good as over. He'd be on the ground sleeping with his rats and Mineta.

The struggle intensified as Midnight twisted and fought, her nails ripping into any patch of his exposed skin. His grip on the shotgun tightened as he shoved her back, the dust swirling around them in a chaotic storm. Midnight's laughter cut through the noise, sharp and almost manic.

"You're stubborn, I'll give you that," she purred, her voice carrying a dangerous edge. Her hand darted forward, snagging the edge of Clay's bandanna. Clay didn't even have the time to adjust the grip on his newly reclaimed shotgun.

In one swift motion, she ripped it off, sending it fluttering to the ground. Midnight grinned, stepping back slightly to let her quirk do the work.

Clay braced himself, his muscles tensing as he prepared for the wave of drowsiness to hit him like it had Mineta and the rats. But... nothing happened.

Midnight's grin faltered, her head tilting slightly as her eyes narrowed. "Huh. That's... new."

Clay blinked, his breathing heavy but steady from the fight. "Huh?" he echoed, confused as to why he was still standing. The fog swirled around him, clinging to his clothes and hair, but the lethargy he expected never came.

Midnight's expression shifted to intrigue, her curiosity overtaking her frustration. "You're resistant?" she murmured, more to herself than to Clay.

"Guess so…" Clay said, finally pointing the shotgun back to Midnight.

Clay's mind raced. Why am I not affected? He glanced at the rats sprawled on the ground, asleep, and at Mineta, who was out cold a few feet away. Midnight's fog had taken down everyone else...

Resilience, he realized suddenly. His whiskers. He leveled-up. Rats can survive just about anything. Maybe my Quirk isn't just about callin' 'em—it's about s—

Midnight interrupted his thoughts with a sharp crack of her whip, narrowly missing his legs.

"Gotta figure that out later," Clay muttered under his breath, gripping the shotgun tightly as he squared off with her once more.

"You wanna know something funny, Midnight?"

"What?" she growled.

"Somewhere along the way, you clicked on the safety. You wouldn't have shot me even if you wanted to."

With the click of a disengaged safety and the bang of the shotgun, Midnight was on the ground again. Clay bent over, scooped Skipper off the ground, and tucked the rat's sleeping form into his pocket. Taking a few more steps, he gripped one of Mineta's ankles and began dragging him toward the exit gate. It wasn't pretty, but it was a victory.