Early, I know. Schedules aren't real anyway.
"See if you can make him scream."
Over the many years he had been a Hero, and even before, Toshinori had heard a lot of screams. Agony, fear, despair, rage, hate…they ran the gamut of human emotion. Midoriya's scream – a clenched-teeth noise of pain that cut out with the suddenness of loss of consciousness – wasn't anywhere near to the worst Toshinori had heard over his long life.
But he was a Hero.
He turned before the thought had made it through his mind, One for All swelling and rushing through him, the smooth expansion of muscle and skin and bone settling over him as he rushed to the door. He would have made it through, already trying to plan a route when Aizawa got there first: he had been closer to the exit and his own movement to leave put him directly in front of Toshinori. Toshinori barely avoided trampling his colleague, earning himself a stinging glare – fortunately not laced with Erasure – and they both stumbled back. Aizawa swore under his breath. Toshinori did exactly the same thing, but in English. An old habit.
Short though it was, the delay as the two of them tried to get through the door was long enough and a crash from the desk drew their attention, forcing them to cease their efforts to rush to Midoriya's aid. They turned in unison, baffled glares directed towards Principal Nedzu, who had shoved a large paperweight from his desk and onto the floor.
"What?" Aizawa demanded, "Midoriya is-"
"In danger, yes," Nedzu said, his voice calmly implacable, "But rushing over will only make it worse. Far worse."
"I'm not in the mood for word games, Nedzu," Aizawa growled, demonstrating either even more courage than Toshinori thought he had or considerably more foolishness. Nedzu seemed outwardly unperturbed, although his customary joviality was absent from his tone.
"If you both charge over to the OMC lair and rush in, people will want to know why," the Principal almost hissed, "Questions will be asked. Theories will be spun. Any number of people could come to the correct conclusion, that there was a mole in the OMC. If Overhaul comes to that conclusion, then Midoriya either gains value as a hostage or loses it as a threat!"
Toshinori pulled up short at that, Aizawa looking away from Nedzu. A flash of uncertainty crossed his face and Nedzu exploited it ruthlessly.
"Right now, Midoriya has value to Overhaul as a test subject. Overhaul is unlikely to carry out any invasive procedures and even if he does, Mr Midoriya is naturally Quirkless. That will give him some protection, as it will make the anti-Quirk bullet seem effective. We have time, but bursting in could well reduce that time. We need to be careful and we need to be clever."
"What do you want us to do?" Toshinori asked, deflating into his shrunken form. Nedzu eyed him, those fathomless black eyes dissecting Toshinori like a cat might idly dissect a mouse. He refused to shudder under that cold gaze, although it was close.
"Nighteye," Nedzu said, "You have been staking out Overhaul. That gives you a way in. Take All Might as backup, just in case, and go to the OMC lair by car. Take over the scene and inspect it for clues, in case we need to stage a rescue."
"In case?" Nighteye echoed, raising an eyebrow. Nedzu smiled – or, perhaps more accurately, Nedzu bared his teeth.
"Mr Midoriya has, in the past, demonstrated a surprising ability to survive, a degree of cunning and, when pressed, an astonishing capacity for violence. I would not be surprised if we arrive only to see the building on fire. However, we will assume that Mr Midoriya cannot escape and proceed as such."
"What do you want me to do?" Aizawa asked gruffly. Nedzu sat down at his desk.
"Aizawa, I want you to reach out to your contacts. Heroes who we can trust, who are skilled and who are discreet. Not just Heroes, either. If this goes on too long we will have to bring every resource we have to bear. The risk of revealing our knowledge of the MLA is too high."
Aizawa looked as though he was going to say something else for a moment, but then he nodded. Nedzu flexed his paws, tapping at his computer.
"In the meantime," he said, "I shall try to cover up Mr Midoriya's involvement. Fortunately I have some experience in this sort of thing, it should be easy enough to make it appear that Usami was the plant and not Mr Midoriya. Other than that, I will stay in contact with you. I have no doubt that MLA affiliated Hero agencies are already being mobilised."
Toshinori cleared his throat.
"What about Midoriya's mother?" he asked, the words feeling like sandpaper in his throat. He'd only met Mrs Midoriya in passing, but she'd been kind, forgiving. Even Aizawa had spoken well of her. If he had to tell that kind, gentle woman that her son was dead…Toshinori wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do it.
A lie. He wished he wasn't strong enough to do it, but he was. He always was. It was his burden to bear.
"Midoriya isn't dead," Nighteye said, "Not yet. Did his Mother know what he was doing?"
Nedzu nodded, still typing.
"She'd been given basic knowledge. It was required, given his age. I suggest that it would be better for her if we keep this quiet, at least for the moment."
Toshinori wasn't sure that was right – something in him protested against the thought – but Aizawa and Mirai were nodding in agreement so he nodded himself, slowly, and hoped that Mrs Midoriya would forgive him if it came to it.
He fervently hoped that it wouldn't.
Nighteye took his own car. Toshinori was sure that one of the UA fleet would have been faster, but traffic was a limiting factor at this time of day and if Mirai felt more comfortable in his own vehicle then that was that. There was a tenseness in the air as Mirai drove: Toshinori wasn't perfect at reading a room, but he thought he could work out why. Nighteye was still convinced that Midoriya was Toshinori's chosen successor, still angry about it, and nothing Toshinori had said would convince him otherwise. Or nothing so far, at least.
A small part of Toshinori, a creeping and shameful part, was grateful that Midoriya had refused One for All. He'd been hit with one of those Anti-Quirk bullets: who knew what that could have done to One for All. A selfish thought, but he couldn't help it. Now that he knew All for One still lived, keeping One for All on the board was more important than ever. And that could well mean making up with Nighteye, no matter how angry he still was that Nighteye had tried to dictate where One for All should go.
"Midoriya doesn't have One for All," he said, quietly. He saw a muscle jump in Nighteye's jaw, a snappish remark probably supressed before Nighteye gave him the slightest glance from the corner of his eye.
"Yes, I am aware," Nighteye said, "It's quite obvious. One would hope that a wielder of One for All would not be so easily captured, and it does explain your urgency to find him. He's your choice of successor, after all."
"Mirai-"
The car swerved abruptly as Nighteye swung around a cyclist, his lips thinning even more with irritation before he interrupted.
"Your successor is your choice, of course," he said, his tone thick with distaste for that fact, "But I wish you would reconsider, Toshinori. Midoriya is a far worse choice than Mirio would be."
Toshinori tried to interrupt again but Nighteye spoke over him, not giving him a chance.
"Not that I think Midoriya is a bad person, or a bad Hero. In fact, I quite like him. He's a skilled combatant, he's clever, he's determined. He's brave and he won't back down and he demonstrated that effectively when he lost an arm and refused to let it stop him. But he's not like you. He's better off in the shadows, in the dark and I share Nedzu's thoughts on Midoriya. Given One for All he's likely to kill someone. He's not inspiring, not like you or Mirio. And he's young, Toshinori, he won't be ready for years while All for One is returning. And he's already made an enemy of the League of Villains, he'll constantly be in danger. Maybe you might think that makes it more important to give him a powerful Quirk he can protect himself with, but-"
"He said no!" Toshinori finally shouted, cutting through Nighteye's rant by raising his voice. The car swerved for a moment before Nighteye recovered from his surprise and brought it back into line.
"He said no?" he asked, sounding baffled. Toshinori muffled a harsh cough into his hand, throat aching from the shout, and nodded.
"I've already offered him One for All," he said, "And he refused it. Used many of the arguments that you just made. I'm not rushing to save him because I want him as my successor, Mirai. I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do."
He could feel Nighteye staring incredulously at him and looked out the window for a moment, grimacing.
"I've been meaning to tell you all this," he said, "But I couldn't find the time. Young Togata…young Togata would be a good wielder of One for All, you're right. He's brave, he's strong, he's inspiring. He reminds me of myself when I was young."
And wasn't that convenient, Toshinori dryly thought, that Nighteye's choice of Successor would be so much like Toshinori himself? Sometimes Toshinori thought that Nighteye, for all his intelligence, was blinkered by his lingering hero worship of All Might. After all, the seven One for All wielders before him hadn't been the Symbol of Peace, they'd been low-key. They'd probably been more like Midoriya than Togata, but that wasn't an argument that was likely to work with Nighteye.
"Then why not choose him?" Nighteye asked. Toshinori sighed.
"It's not a flaw with him," he said, "It's a problem with me."
He forestalled Nighteye's next words with a raised hand.
"Let me finish," he said softly, "Please."
Nighteye nodded stiffly, turning his eyes back to the road. Toshinori chewed his lip, thinking his words through before speaking again.
"I know that I need a successor, if One for All is to go on," he said, "I've been looking for one. I haven't chosen one, truthfully, because every person I've thought might be a good choice has felt…wrong."
He sighed.
"No, wrong isn't the right word," he admitted, "There's just been something…something niggling at me. Something uncomfortable, as though my gut – what's left of it – knows there's something off about them. There've only been two people I've not gotten this feeling about, when I've thought of handing One for All down."
"Midoriya must be one of them," Nighteye surmised, "And the other?"
Toshinori looked up at the roof of the car, grimacing.
"Melissa Shield."
"Melissa Shield…David Shield's daughter? Isn't she Quirkless, too?" Nighteye asked, in that tone of voice that suggested he was getting into an investigation. Toshinori nodded before speaking.
She's Quirkless, yes. I only considered her recently, I don't know if she would be a good choice. But every possibility I've thought of who are Quirked, it's like… it's like my mind shies away from them. Like there's something just not right – not a problem with them, but something not correct. I thought I was just being selfish, but now that there are two I can see giving One for All to…"
"Two," Nighteye echoed thoughtfully, "Who are both Quirkless."
"Yes," Toshinori said heavily, "It could be my own bias, of course. My dreams were made real by One for All, maybe I'm just being selfish. Maybe I want to do for another Quirkless person as Nana did for me."
"Maybe," Nighteye agreed, "Maybe not. You should research past holders of One for All."
Toshinori nodded.
"I've tried," he admitted, "But it's hard. Nana only spoke of her own predecessor once or twice and most of the holders remained as quiet as possible. I've been meaning to ask Nedzu to help with my research."
"You should," Nighteye said, "You need a successor and if it can't be Mirio we need to find out why."
A cold calculation, but better than before. Toshinori did mostly hope that it was just a hang-up of his own, something he could work his way through. Only mostly, because now that he knew All for One was still alive, the thought of forcing someone else to carry the burden of stopping him wounded him, deep inside, and if he couldn't pass it on for an actual reason he could better excuse keeping it to himself. Better excuse what he'd said to Midoriya: that All for One and One for All had been born together, and perhaps they should die together. A morbid thought but oddly comforting and, for a moment, Toshinori remembered the look that had flashed across Midoriya's face when he'd told him about All for One, the brief outrage. He wondered, now, what had outraged the boy. Maybe he'd have to ask.
"So," he said, changing the topic of his thoughts with a heavy effort of will, "When we arrive. How do you want to do this?"
Nighteye glanced at him, eyebrows drawn close together in a thoughtful frown.
"Not a word about Midoriya," he said, "If there are police there, we use the excuse that my Agency is investigating Overhaul. We use that to gain entry, recover the remains of Midoriya's spectacles to hide that there was an agent in the room. Once there, we can 'find' evidence that someone was taken and proceed from there."
"We'll have to expect that Heroes under the payroll of the MLA will turn up," Toshinori mused, "But they'll have to be careful as well. Unless the MLA has a lot more control of the police than I could fear, they can't afford to look too suspicious. They can't have infiltrated so strongly that they can afford to reveal themselves in an uncontrolled manner."
"Perhaps our only advantage over them, yes," Nighteye agreed. Toshinori nodded agreeably, settling back into his seat to wait. The windows were tinted darkly enough that he didn't need to take his larger form, so he took the chance to rest up. He stared blankly through the window, not saying a word until the car slowly braked to a halt and Nighteye sighed out a long breath.
"We're here."
Toshinori nodded, heaving a sigh and changing with the noise, his seatbelt retracting just before his frame swelled in his seat. Nighteye looked at him, nodding. Toshinori had spared a moment to change into his costume as they left, and there was a comfort in the way it stretched tight across his muscled form, instead of hanging limp and loose.
"Come on then," Nighteye muttered, sliding out of the car. Toshinori took a moment to bury a brief cough before following, eyes raking across the building. There were a couple of policemen stood next to the front wall – Toshinori would say door, but it was pretty much gone. Overhaul's first attack, he thought, converting the wall into an advancing barricade of lethal spikes with his Quirk. Dangerously practical and disruptive. Nighteye had successfully negotiated an entrance to the building from the detective in charge of the police – Toshinori's presence probably hadn't hurt there, he wryly thought. The two of them made their way through the collapsed front wall, Toshinori ducking ludicrously low in order to squeeze under the police tape, and then they were in.
The air in the building was thick with the copper-steel reek of blood and other, even less pleasant, smells. Toshinori carefully kept the grimace from his face as Nighteye crouched over a body.
"Do you know him, sir?" asked the detective, a slender woman whose tone was coolly professional, her eyes hard. Nighteye reached out to the body of Oyama but didn't touch it, long and delicate fingers hovering in the air.
"No," he said mildly, "I was alerted because Overhaul was in the area. Have you heard of him?"
"Yakuza," Detective Sensaka grunted, "Heard he was involved in some deaths a couple of weeks ago. Small time crooks – Diamond Dogs or something?"
"Reservoir Dogs," Nighteye corrected mildly, "But yes. They didn't die, though. They were found a couple of days ago, extremely traumatised and suspiciously healthy."
"Remind me, what is Overhaul's Quirk?" Toshinori asked, mostly to keep the conversation going as he drifted slowly across the room, moving towards the spectacles that he could see resting against the wall. Nighteye smiled thinly.
"Quirk: Overhaul. Allows him, in short, to disassemble and reassemble anything that he touches."
Detective Sensaka drew in a sharp breath. Nighteye rose to his feet, brushing his hands together as though to clear away any dust.
"He must have been desperate, to do something like this. Either that or very confident."
"The evidence isn't looking too good," Sensaka admitted, "I believe you when you say it was him, but there's no connection, no real motive. And he's Yakuza: he can buy the best lawyers possible."
It was a little arrogant of Overhaul, thinking he could get away with it, but also perhaps possible. But maybe it was also desperation: he surely had known that the girl Usami and Oyama had seen would be coveted by the MLA. In that case, best to strike first and Heroes be damned.
"Not everyone here is dead," Nighteye said musingly. Toshinori glanced at him – a warning glance, because Mirai had better have a good explanation if he didn't want to give away that they'd been watching. Detective Sensaka paced across the room, carefully avoiding the garish slick of gore that had once been Jinsaku Usami. She glanced down at it, an eyebrow rising over one pale, hard eye.
"No?" she said, her tone laden with question. Nighteye rose from his hunkered position, indicating the splash of gore with a wave of a hand.
"This man died here," he said, "The others are obvious. So, if that is the case, why is the chair broken? And why is the window over there sealed?"
Nighteye walked across, conveniently passing by the broken spectacles. He reached into a pocket, sliding on a glove and crouching down. Toshinori shifted enough to cover Nighteye as his colleague picked up the spectacles, breaking them in half with a quick wrench and sliding one half, the half with the electronics, into a pocket.
"A pair of spectacles, broken," Nighteye said. Detective Sensaka walked over, peering at the damaged spectacles and then at the blocked window.
"So someone else was here, trying to escape," she theorised, "But why? Someone Overhaul wanted in particular?"
"The placement of the bodies could be from an attempt to protect someone," Toshinori rumbled. The detective glanced at him when he spoke, a flicker of admiration and awe in her eyes – he saw that a lot, he had to admit – but there was no trace of it in her voice.
"So someone's in the hands of the Yakuza. Fantastic. Just how I wanted my night to go."
A noise at the doorway drew all of their attention, a woman in a white and blue bodysuit stepping under the police tape. She hesitated when she saw Toshinori. Even if he hadn't known that Seabreeze was MLA affiliated, that hesitation would have given away that something was wrong. It wasn't the hesitation of surprise, or relief, or awe that people frequently showed when they saw him. It was trepidation. It was fear. It was what is he doing here and is my cover blown. Toshinori didn't read people as well as Nedzu or Aizawa, but he saw enough.
"All Might," Seabreeze said slowly, "Sir Nighteye. I didn't know this was in your patrol area."
Toshinori offered her a smile, not as beaming as his usual grin but still broad and confident.
"Ah, it isn't," he said, as cheerfully boisterous as ever, "But Sir Nighteye has been keeping an eye on the villain Overhaul and we were nearby when we heard he'd been sighted."
Seabreeze relaxed a fraction at that, probably believing that she was safe. Toshinori let his smile fade away, continuing.
"It's a terrible thing that's happened here," he said, "Did you know the people here, Miss…?"
"Seabreeze," she said, a hand waving awkwardly in something that was almost a salute, "Um, no. I might have met the owner a week or so ago, when I was on patrol. He seemed nice."
Well, it had always been a long shot that Seabreeze would let something slip. She wasn't highly ranked in the MLA, as far as they could tell, but the resurgent group hadn't remained hidden for so long without being careful. He might have made it worse, Toshinori thought: he was pretty sure that the MLA were well aware that he wouldn't endorse their aims. Nighteye, alone, might have had a better chance of getting Seabreeze to talk.
He hated the thought. It was like writing Midoriya off already, but a tiny, practical part of him – a part that spoke in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Nedzu – said that it was only sensible. It was up to Midoriya to survive, now.
"This is so horrible," Seabreeze said, and she sounded genuinely discomforted, "Why would someone do this? Kill all these people, and kidnap one of them? They were harmless."
Harmless? Well, maybe in the grander scheme of things. Toshinori wasn't going to make the mistake of thinking that just because the OMC had weak Quirks they couldn't have been dangerous, and that wasn't even counting Midoriya. Seabreeze was shaking her head, although Toshinori noticed that she was counting bodies. Who was missing? Midoriya, kidnapped, and Mara Bennet. Seabreeze would surely notice that Bennet was missing, and it couldn't be too hard to connect the dots from there.
"We can only hope that justice will be done," Nighteye said, walking towards the door. Toshinori followed, content to follow Nighteye's lead for the moment. Seabreeze was in their way, her eyes glittering with something unspeakable.
"Justice," she said, "Yes. Whoever did this should be brought to justice, and all their accomplices. All of them."
She seemed to realise where she was, offering the two of them a quick nod before stepping aside. Toshinori and Nighteye didn't speak a word until they were back in the car and Toshinori could sink back into his skinny form with an anguished sigh, the coughs he'd been suppressing boiling up in his chest, bending him over until they finally receded, leaving him with a handkerchief stained crimson and a throat burning for lack of air. He swallowed hard, leaning back in his seat and waving away Nighteye's concern.
"I wouldn't want to be Miss Bennet, if the MLA get their hands on her," he said, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. Nighteye grimaced.
"Quite," he said, "She likely hopes that All for One will protect her. Or hide her. Who knows, maybe he will?"
Toshinori shrugged.
"Hard to say," he admitted. All for One was rarely kind to his minions, but he also tended towards the practical: he was at the least aware of the value of loyalty. Whether Bennet was useful enough for him to bother hiding her remained to be seen, but Toshinori thought he might.
"If he hides Bennet, he has her available as leverage if he ever wants to work with the MLA," he said, "That would be his style."
"Yes," Nighteye agreed, "And I think we have to consider the strong chance that All for One instigated the hostilities between Overhaul and the MLA. The question becomes, then, why?"
"The MLA is much larger and better funded than the Eight Precepts," Toshinori said quietly as Nighteye started the car, "Maybe Overhaul is stronger than any of the MLA, but so much stronger? I doubt it. Unless All for One hopes that Overhaul will weaken the MLA, for some reason?"
Nighteye kept his eyes on the road as he drove, but Toshinori could see concern wrinkling the edges of his eyes.
"All for One was badly injured five years ago," he said eventually, "I know we can't confirm that, but you say you crushed his skull and he hasn't been seen. His actions agree: if he was at full health, he would have come to the USJ himself instead of sending the Nomu. You are one thing: I hardly imagine All for One could resist Aizawa's Erasure, Bakugou's Explosion and Todoroki's Half-Hot Half-Cold in one place, ripe for the taking. He's working through proxies because he's too hurt to do otherwise."
A creeping fear started at the base of Toshinori's spine, travelling up to the nape of his neck.
"Mirai," he said quietly, "Did you say that Overhaul can disassemble and reassemble?"
"Yes, I…oh. Oh no."
"All for One wouldn't dare trust Overhaul touching him," Toshinori said, his mind working, "Not without some sort of assurance. In that case, he needs Overhaul to be desperate, unless he plans on simply taking Overhaul for himself. But if he doesn't, then what better way to leave Overhaul desperate than to manipulate him into a war with the MLA, until he's cornered, until All for One can make an offer. Heal him to full strength, and All for One…"
"All for One will break the MLA for him," Nighteye murmured. His lips, always thin, tightened into a grimace.
"The child, as well," he said, "Her powers can rewind time. If One for All can gain access to her, he has a ready supply of…of immortality, to give out as he pleases. If we can gain access to her, she could…you might not need a successor."
"I won't use a child like All for One would," Toshinori said, his voice rising without thought, booming in the small car. Nighteye glanced at him but said nothing and Toshinori swallowed the sudden anger, pushing it back down.
"If she offers," he said softly, "I may take it. I'm sorry for snapping, Mirai."
Nighteye nodded in acceptance of the apology before he glanced to the other side, looking away from the road for a fraction of a second.
"Five years ago," he said, "I never dreamed that it would end up like this. When you walked out of that hospital. I thought All for One was dead and done and you could retire in peace. I thought we'd won."
"We did win," Toshinori said, smiling wanly, "But life is never done with one, is it?"
He stared out of the window, at the traffic rushing by, and grimaced inwardly. All he could do, now, was hope that they were wrong. Hope that this wasn't all a plot by All for One. And, without any fresh information gained, hope that Midoriya could escape the clutches of Overhaul, especially if Overhaul could be working with the League of Villains and Shigaraki. Shigaraki, with his grudge against Midoriya and his flesh-melting Quirk. All he could do was hope.
All Might was always confident, strong and determined. Toshinori Yagi, however? He had the luxury of leaning back in his chair and saying a prayer for a young man, trapped in the arms of danger.
Izuku stayed in the shadows, watching Overhaul and Chronostasis walk away before he continued to move. His head whirled with options, plans and he slipped soundlessly through the corridors, looking for somewhere he could bunker down and think in peace. He found it in a utility room: when he opened the door he found a small room filled with cleaning supplies. It was cramped and it was dark but he slid inside anyway, closing the door and settling himself in the blackness.
Breathe, he thought. A breath in, held, released. Calming. Steadying. His lips moved without speaking as he thought over his options, considering how to proceed.
The way Izuku saw it, he had a couple of choices going forwards. Option One, the simplest: escape alone. Get out of there, get in contact with Nedzu, hope his escape went unnoticed long enough that he could drop All Might on Overhaul. Pragmatic, safe. Option One-point-One: almost the same, only he stole a cell phone first and used it to call in, staying in the building so it could be tracked. More likely to end up in Izuku watching Overhaul and his backup dancers getting flattened by All Might: more likely to end up in Izuku getting caught and murdered. Positives and negatives.
Option Two.
Try to take down Overhaul himself. The opposite to Option One, it had an appeal all of its own: Overhaul was a hell of a combatant, but he wasn't bulletproof and there had to be some poor slug in here with a firearm. One bullet, that was all it would take. Just a gun, a bullet and, a little later, a corpse.
Christ, he was tempted. Jason would have done it, and to hell with the consequences. Either that or, if he was feeling dramatic, rescue Eri and then improvise an explosion to take out the whole building. Izuku was tempted by that one, too. Sure, it would kill a bunch of people, but they were complicit in the torture of a child. They'd get what they fucking deserved.
Izuku pinched his wrist again, because that was just a little too close to Jason for his liking. Kill Overhaul, maybe. Blow up the entire building, a little too much. He wasn't ruling it out entirely, but preferably he'd do this quick and clean. Either way, he needed to save Eri, so call it option one and keep two in the back pocket for a desperation play.
Alright. What you have, what you want, what you need. What he wanted: to save Eri and escape the Eight Precepts base without getting killed. Preferably without getting maimed either. Therefore, he needed to find Eri and an escape route, without getting caught. And what did he have to achieve that? His own skills, a knife, a baton and whatever he could find along the way.
The Eight Precepts wouldn't know what hit them, Izuku thought dryly.
His first action after that thought was to crack the door open just a fraction, enough to let in light. He assessed the cleaning supplies: probably enough to make a fire if he had to, but he was pretty sure that wouldn't be useful here. The building itself, by his guess, wasn't built as a villainous lair. It was a former office building, he was fairly sure, which meant…ah. Dropped ceilings, in order to contain an easily accessible sprinkler system. There was his means of passing unnoticed, so long as he could stay quiet, and Izuku improvised a mask from some cleaning cloths as he considered. He hadn't seen any cameras so far, but a building like this had to have some. So, first step: find the security office, or at least someone who could tell him where it was. Izuku climbed a shelf, carefully shifted a ceiling panel and clambered into the dust-thick interior.
It was hot in there, the air close and heavy, but it was better than wandering the corridors waiting to be ambushed. Besides, Izuku had had worse. Some of the places in Gotham…Izuku went the opposite way to Overhaul, aware that his time was ticking away before his guards were discovered in his cell and an alarm was raised. It was awkward, shuffling along on his elbows and knees in the dim light that filtered through the ceiling panels, but he made reasonably good time until he hit the jackpot. An intersection between corridors, the roof sections mimicking it and, running through it, a single wire. Izuku lay next to the wire, taking slow breaths until his heart rate slowed down enough for him to listen for movement in the corridor below. Satisfied that it was empty, he gingerly pried up a tile to peer through the gap, seeing what he expected: a single boxy camera, overlooking the intersection. And if there was a camera, there was only one place for the wire to lead.
Izuku followed the wire, wriggling across the cross-hatching support beams, his breath tight in his throat as he awkwardly shuffled along. He heard voices: sometimes the low buzz of conversation, sometimes raised in laughter or argument but he ignored them. He had somewhere to be. He estimated it was ten minutes later that he reached the end of the wire, where it terminated into a cluster that ran down into a wall cavity. Sweating, he paused to catch his breath before he carefully, achingly slowly peeled up a ceiling tile and peered through. A security room. Small, one wall covered in screens, and a man sat in a chair watching them. The man sprawled in his seat, shirt-sleeves rolled up to show tattooed, muscled forearms. There was a half-eaten baguette and a cup of coffee of the desk in front of him. It could have been any security office in the world.
But it wasn't, he reminded himself, and so he carefully repositioned himself until he could pull away a tile, settling it gently into place next to him. He hooked his feet under a beam and leaned backwards, dangling himself head-first into the room. It strained his injured ribs, his side boiling with pain, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it in favour of raking his eyes over the cameras, taking it all in.
The cameras weren't as common as Izuku might have expected. He didn't doubt that, were this UA, Nedzu would have every inch of the place covered. Here it was the important places: entrances, a couple of labs, what Izuku thought might be an armoury and…there. In the bottom right corner, two screens. One showed a single guard next to a keypad. The other showed a small girl sat on a mat, doodling with a crayon. Unless Overhaul made kidnapping young kids a habit – and Izuku wasn't going to put it past him – that was Izuku's goal. Izuku contorted himself back into the ceiling, wriggling around until he was crouched awkwardly in the space, looking down through the hole. He braced his hands either side of the gap and, with a slow, soft exhalation of effort, lowered himself through the hole.
He landed with the faintest of thuds on the carpet, freezing in place as the security guard shifted. He wasn't one of the Eight Bullets, thankfully, but Izuku still held his breath as the man shifted, looking over the cameras. He brought a hand up to his chin – Izuku saw his shoulders tense.
"Who's there?" the man demanded, spinning in his chair and leaping to his feet. Izuku moved at exactly the same time, stepping to the side and around, just out of line of sight. The man paused when he saw the empty room, chuckling to himself.
"Huh," he said, "Must have been the wind or something."
He looked to his left and right, not seeing Izuku before he looked up and saw the gap in the ceiling.
"What-"
Izuku's first strike was a closed fist, directly into the kidney with his prosthetic. Metal met flesh with a dull, meaty thud and the man arched his back, mouth opening in pain, his legs giving way. Izuku jammed a finger into a pressure point on the side of his neck, cutting off his voice before he kicked the back of the mans knee to finish his collapse, wrapping an arm under his chin as the man lifted his face in pain. A standing choke, applied as the man fell to his knees, and just seconds later Izuku let the unconscious man slide to the ground. Izuku blocked the door via the simple expediency of dragging a cabinet over to it and shoving it under the handle before tying the man up. Same as before: belt for the wrists, socks as a gag, shoelaces for the legs before methodically stripping the man of anything useful. Another knife, that he discarded. A wallet and a phone, that he took on principle. And, tucked into the back of the man's waistband, a handgun.
It wasn't a good gun. It was cheap, rough edges, scratched and battered. It was fairly well maintained, but the balance was nowhere near as good as his own pistols. And yet.
How quick were Overhaul's reactions? Faster than a bullet? Izuku doubted it. And just to make sure of it, all he needed was for Overhaul to be distracted. A chance that Eri could have escaped and Overhaul would go rushing into her room, desperate to find her and keep hold of his meal ticket. Without thinking Izuku glanced across the security screens, finding a laboratory. Chemicals there, enough that he'd need: easy to do. Set a pretend fire in Eri's room, with plenty of smoke and alarm and, when Overhaul rushed in, three bullets to the skull and the Eight Precepts would collapse on their own. It would be easy. And Overhaul didn't deserve anything else, just kill the man and escape and Izuku gritted his teeth, pressing his prosthetic fingers hard against his head.
Stupid. Stupid.
What was the chance that Overhaul would come alone? What was the chance that Izuku could escape the Eight Bullets afterwards, what was the chance that Overhaul would go to Eri's cell instead of the entrances? Jason could have killed Overhaul and shot his way out with Eri tucked under one arm, maybe. Izuku? Not so much.
"Get it together, Izuku," he hissed to himself, "If you fuck this up, there won't be a second chance. Nobody's about to break down the door and save you."
Not a lesson he needed reminded of, what with – forehand or backhand – but, well, always useful to remind himself of it. No. He'd decided against trying to kill Overhaul, he was going to stick to the plan as best he could. Izuku glanced at the security guard, checking that he was still unconscious before he started planning, under his breath.
"So Eri's cell is there," he muttered, staring at the basic map on the wall, "A level up. Once I get her out, though, we can't take too much time, no way of knowing if there'll be some alarm around her. Grab her and go…the Eight Precepts will definitely lock down the entrances, so take one they don't expect."
A window, Izuku thought with a flex of his prosthetic fingers. Hatsume had assured him that the grappling hook in his left arm was rated for twice his body weight even if he was moving at full speed: time to test that out. He tracked a path from Eri's cell, through a lab in case he needed to whip something up as a distraction and to a high enough point that he could make an escape. It was still going to be risky, there would always be the chance that he wouldn't be high enough to grapple away, but he'd take those odds.
"The MLA are going to love this," he muttered to himself, "An affiliate gets captured, escapes with one of Overhauls greatest assets, vanishes afterwards? They'll be frothing with jealousy."
He locked the door with one of the keys from the guard's belt, took one last look at the monitors to pin the locations of Overhaul, Chronostasis, Mimic and the Eight Bullets in his mind and then sloshed the coffee in the cup liberally over the computer, the screens flickering and dying with the machine. Izuku offered a sardonic salute to the still unconscious guard as he climbed back into the roof.
"I hope Overhaul's not the kind of boss to kill his minions for little problems," he said, "'Cause otherwise, he's gonna be down a couple of people after today."
Climbing through the ceiling again, Izuku couldn't help but wish for his equipment. And not even the most obvious parts: yes the weapons would be useful, yes the armour would be nice, but the helmet was what he missed most of all. Being able to see properly would be a godsend. Jason's most advanced helmet, one that he'd only used for about a month before it got broken and Regime purges had ruined his access to the technology required, had included a tiny HUD in the corner that could be hooked into surveillance systems for real time adjustments. Izuku was still jealous of it, even now. Knowing where the Eight Bullets were would have been a great relief.
He made a mental note to look into that as he crawled on, dust sticking to his bare arm and cobwebs brushing his face. He bit his tongue and struggled on, forcing himself not to react to the gossamer brush of spider-silk against his skin. There were things a lot worse than this, he told himself, and if he got caught he'd probably be experiencing them. He'd been determinedly ignoring the thought of what Overhaul might have planned for him, but the number of laboratories, one of which had looked a lot more like a surgery... Cold steel bed, white walls, the lingering black stains of dried blood…yeah, Izuku didn't want to end up on the dissection table. Overhaul apparently could do things like that with his Quirk, but Izuku didn't want to assume that he wouldn't go in with the scalpel if he ever felt like it.
The thought brought the hate for Overhaul rearing back from that dark place in his heart, poisonous and choking in his throat, but he repressed it with practiced ease. A matter of survival, now: to lose his temper here would be to die. Eri's room was several flights of stairs above this floor: Izuku reached the stairwell and slumped down, gathering his strength. The other floors didn't have ceilings like this, he'd have to be quick if he wanted to stay hidden. He was tempted to take the elevator, but managed to restrain himself just in time, taking the stairs at a quick jog. More corridors, painted a bland beige and carpeted in pale brown, more doors lining the way. It was mostly quiet – Izuku suspected that most of the rooms beyond weren't being used – but sometimes there was noise. He slipped past most of them without any problems, only pausing when he came to a door with a window set into it. The door was propped open slightly, voices drifting out, and Izuku froze next to it as a bellow of laughter sounded. He pressed himself against the wall, feeling the paint rough under his right hand, and listened.
"At least you got some action, Rikiya," a man half shouted, "How did it feel? Did they put up any fight at all?"
Rikiya. One of the Eight Bullets, almost certainly, which made the man shouting another member. Izuku held his breath for a second, his heart beating slightly faster. He knew the basics of each Eight Bullet member's abilities, and he wasn't confident that he could beat any of them without being properly equipped. Not confident at all.
"It wasn't much of a fight," came the reply from Rikiya, his voice thunderously deep and slow. Izuku imagined him reclining back, talking so easily. Remembered Oyama's neck snapping under a massive fist, the man falling dead, and clenched his fingers, gritted his teeth.
"Two of 'em tried," Rikiya said, "I got one, one hit and he went down. The other must've taken some Trigger, but he still wasn't much. Boss took him down easy."
"Yeah?" the first man said, "Glad I didn't go along, then. Sounds boring."
"Boring or not, it is our duty to support the boss," a third man said, "Our honour, Kendo."
"Honour?" Kendo said, "Yeah, I guess. If you say so, Yu."
He sounded a little mocking, but neither of the two called him on it. Either he was joking, or they were used to his irreverent attitude. Izuku crouched low, shuffling under the window in the door and continuing on as the conversation started again. Yu and Kendo. That must be Kendo Rappa and Yu Hojo, so that was three members of the Eight Bullets in one place. A pity that he had no way to keep them there, but at least he knew where they were. He continued quickly through the building, growing more uncomfortable with every step. It was too light, too open. Too few places to hide. He kept moving, head turning constantly, eyes flicking over the corridor in an attempt to be ready. Two turns, through another corridor and he was nearly there. Just around the next corner and he would be at Eri's room. All he had to do was deal with the guard on the door. He peeked around the corner, taking the risk of being seen to gather more information.
One guard.
One single guard, leaning against the wall, looking bored as all hell. Rangy, but not that tall. For a moment Izuku's fingers brushed over the butt of his stolen pistol, but the moment passed with a flash of logic: gunfire would bring people running as surely as a yell for help. Maybe even more surely, since it would be louder. No, he needed a distraction that would let him cross the open space. That was all.
Izuku wished he knew how to throw his voice. Well, throwing something else would have to do. He pulled a knife from his pocket, judged the distance, took a deep breath and threw it. It was a good throw, low and quick, past the guard's knees and clattering on the floor. The guard straightened from the wall with the quick jerk of a man suddenly snapping out of a doze, bolting straight and turning.
"Who's there?"
Izuku moved. He didn't have time for subtlety: he ran the distance between them. The guard was fast, spinning on his heel as he heard footsteps, but not fast enough.
"You-"
The word was just forming when Izuku reached the man, striking with his right hand. He hit a pressure point just under the jaw, locking the vocal cords before he crashed into the man, leading with his left elbow. The guard staggered back at the hit to his chest but got his left arm up in time to deflect Izuku's second punch, hopping back and pulling a knife in his right hand.
Izuku smiled.
The man closed in fast, a wide looping stab with the knife and Izuku met it with his left hand, wrapping his fingers around the mans hand and jamming his thumb into a point on the wrist, his right hand striking like a snake. Cartilage bent as his knuckles met the guards nose, the knife falling into his hand as the man reeled back and Izuku spun the knife, thrust it forwards in a far more straightforward motion than the guard. The guard was quick enough to catch his wrist, swinging a haymaker with his other hand. Izuku ducked, rotating his wrist so that the knife cut across the inside of the mans arm, forcing him to let go. A right-hand strike to the throat, whip quick, the blade in his left flashing across the man's chest and stomach, just enough to draw blood and bring his arms up, hunching and curling into himself and Izuku spun the knife in his hand, expert and familiar, dropped to a crouch and drove it through the calf.
A soundless scream, the arms dropped and Izuku let go of the knife and threw in an uppercut with his prosthetic, teeth snapping together as metal knuckles met the bone of the chin, a second punch to the nose before finishing it by grabbing the man by the face and bouncing his head off the wall behind. The guard collapsed, maybe unconscious, definitely unable to fight any longer, and Izuku shook his head.
Turns out he had a natural flair for knives. Who would have guessed. Izuku tied up and gagged the guard, just to be sure, and turned back to the keypad. His fingers danced across the plating, not touching the buttons: he wasn't equipped to hack it.
Fortunately, he didn't need to.
Izuku drew another stolen knife from his pocket, forcing it into the groove where the front plate of the keypad sat and hammering it with his prosthetic until the plate popped off. Just as he'd suspected: the fancy faceplate covered very basic electronics. It was the work of a couple of moments to pull the wires out – Izuku flinched as a spark flickered across his fingers – and rewire it to bypass the electronic lock. The door clicked heavily and Izuku grinned, setting the faceplate back into place in the hope it would hide the weakness in security from Overhaul. He pulled the door open and stepped carefully into the room. It was spartan, the little girl still sat in the middle of the room, although she'd stopped colouring. Instead she stared at him with wide, untrusting eyes – Izuku estimated her age as about five or six. Her whitish hair was matted, her dress dirty and bandages poked from under the sleeves, wrapping her arms.
Izuku swallowed his rage and spoke softly.
"Hi," he said, "Eri, right?"
She gave the tiniest nod, a crayon clenched tight in one fist and her eyes unblinking on him. Izuku went down onto one knee, making himself smaller, and offered the faintest smile.
"Hi," he repeated, "My name's Izuku. I'm a Hero. And I'm here to get you out."
It was a risk, telling her his real name, but really. If Eri was in a position to tell anyone who shouldn't learn it his actual name, Izuku would probably be in a position where it wouldn't much matter. He extended a hand, slowly, making sure that it was his right. He couldn't hide his prosthetic, but no need to put it front and centre. Eri stared at his outstretched hand, biting her lip, her eyes flicking to his face and back down to his hand.
"He'll catch you," she said, her voice so very soft, "He'll hurt you, if I'm there."
Izuku softened his expression for her, with an effort of will.
"He won't," he said, "And even if he does, taking you with me won't make it worse."
He was dead if Overhaul caught him, he was pretty sure of that. He wasn't going to tell her – but then, she probably already knew. Izuku didn't exactly remember what he'd known when he was six, but he'd known enough. He'd known enough to understand that he couldn't be a Hero without a Quirk. He hoped that Eri knew enough to at least take a chance on escape. But then she'd tried before, hadn't she? Usami and Oyama had only seen her because she'd nearly gotten out of the building and there was a glint in those wide, innocent red eyes, a flicker of defiance.
Izuku wasn't surprised when she reached out and wrapped small fingers around his own.
"I'll come with you," she said, standing. Izuku nodded.
"Alright," he said, "They watch the doors, don't they?"
A nod in response and he smiled again.
"Lucky us, we aren't going out of the doors."
Eri didn't smile, a serious nod instead, but Izuku didn't mind. He'd accomplished his first two objectives, finding and reaching Eri. Now for the escape. And he had a path in mind already.
"We can escape out of a window," he told her, dragging the unconscious body of her guard into the room and closing the door, "I've got a rope we can use."
Eri nodded, still unnaturally serious. Yeah, that was probably all that trauma – Izuku was reasonably sure that he knew how to recognise that. She probably didn't really believe they could escape and was just going along with it, but that was fine. So long as Izuku could get her out he could get her the treatment she needed. Having dragged the man into the middle of the room Izuku took a brief look around, turning back to Eri.
"Is there anything you want to take with you?" he asked. She shook her head, returning to her previous silence, and he nodded.
"Alright then."
Izuku took Eri's hand once more and led her out into the corridor, moving at a controlled pace. He knew where he was going, more or less: there was a laboratory that he was sure faced another building, the window high enough and close enough that he'd be able to grapple to it and safely descend, even carrying Eri. He just had to get there: Eri stuck close on his heels as he hurried along. Not far now, not far at all and Izuku was almost starting to think that it really would be that easy.
And just like that, he tempted Fate a little too far.
The alarm went off like a howling banshee, scraping at Izuku's ears and pulling at his bones, Eri's fingers tightening on his own.
"Well, nothing lasts forever," Izuku muttered, just before he scooped Eri into his arms and started to run. There were shouts rising in the building now, yells of alarm, and Izuku sprinted through the corridors, heading towards his destination as quickly as possible.
"Oi! Oi, you!" shouted a voice from behind him, a voice he recognised from earlier: Kendo Rappa. Izuku ran faster.
"Hey, get back here!"
Rappa was fast, but Izuku was far enough away and fast enough that he reached his destination well before Rappa caught up, shouldering the door open. He set Eri down and gave her a gentle push, already looking for what he needed.
"Hide," he urged, lifting a stool from the ground and throwing it at a window with a grunt of effort. Eri ran towards a corner of the room and Izuku gritted his teeth as the window cracked but didn't shatter, thudding footsteps coming from the corridor. Alright. Stop Rappa first, then. He picked up another chair and turned, just as Rappa burst into the room.
"Where do you think you go-"
Rappa cut off as Izuku slammed the chair into his face, the flimsy thing breaking, a roar of laughter replacing words. A massive hand reached forwards and seized Izuku by the front of his shirt, dragging him forwards and up to his tiptoes and Izuku drew his knife. Right handed, the draw raked the blade over the forearm of the hand grabbing him, flip the knife around, slash at the other hand as it reached around and Rappa slapped the knife out of his hand, lifted him off his feet and threw him like a toddler. Izuku flailed through the air, smacking into a bench and rolling off it onto the floor, landing on his feet by some miracle. Rappa looked at his arm, expression inscrutable behind the stupid looking plague-doctor mask, and shook the blood away. A minor wound, at best.
"You know," he said, "I think there's something real tasteless about bringing a gun or a knife to a fight. Whoever's got the weapon wins, right? That ain't a real fight."
Izuku drew in a ragged breath, shifting until he was right next to a cluster of labelled beakers that he'd noticed on the cameras earlier.
"I'm gonna be honest," he said, voice rough through his dry throat, "I don't care what you think."
The first beaker he threw was full of acid, splashing across Rappa's upraised arms and drawing a pained snarl from him. He started forwards and Izuku threw two more, carefully chosen: the two liquids, splattering across Kendo, mixed to form a thick and choking smoke.
"Little bastard!" Rappa snarled from within the rapidly expanding cloud of smoke, "Come out and fight like a man!"
Izuku moved quickly, closing in – half the building was probably closing on them by now, he needed to be quick. He ran straight at Rappa, shoving another chair hard so that it clattered to his right, Kendo's left, making Kendo spin and Izuku jumped onto a chair, onto a desk and leapt at Rappa. Left fist to the temple, carry through as he landed, reverse to put the left elbow into the chin. Follow up the motion with a right elbow to the jaw, right elbow and left fist into the ribs, knee to the gut and Rappa grabbed Izuku's shoulders with both hands, driving in a headbutt that rattled Izuku from skull to toes before throwing him away again. Izuku rolled over and back to his feet in one instinctive motion, staggering as his vision spun and his gut churned with nausea, sharp pain raking through him as his ribs protested being flung about. Rappa rubbed his jaw, chuckling darkly.
"That's more like it, kid," he said, his voice heated with the thrill of battle, "That's more like it! Fist to fist, flesh to flesh! Hit and be hit, hurt and be hurt! That's the fuckin' stuff!"
Ah, shit. Not only was Rappa supernaturally tough, he apparently got off on fighting. Maybe Izuku should just shoot him right now. Right through the head, one bullet. He had plenty more.
Yeah, that was the ticket. Izuku reached down, but his fingers didn't feel the gun. He glanced around and saw it on the ground, where he'd been thrown. Alright. That wasn't good. He shook his head to clear the ringing, accepting the spike of pain in exchange for getting his head back in the game. Rappa spread his hands, looming in the doorway: his skin was reddened by acid, but he didn't seem to care.
"You should be grateful," he said, tone hitching with excitement, "That Quirk you've got, it's terrible! Imagining not being able to feel pain, I couldn't stand it! How can you really make the most of fighting when you can't feel it? But with it gone…can you feel it? Can you feel the thrill?"
Rappa charged on the last bellowed word, crossing the distance between them in a single leap and swinging a massive fist down. Izuku flung himself aside, the punch smashing through the desk he'd been leaning on and Rappa came after him like a charging bull, roaring in excitement. A thrown chair was smashed to smithereens, a beaker avoided and Rappa swung a massive haymaker that would have taken Izuku's head off had he not dropped into a crouch, rolling forwards to avoid a two-handed smash down that Izuku countered with an elbow to the jaw, feeling it creak under the impact, jumping up and kicking off a desk to backflip over Rappa. He was giving too much away, showing too much skill, but it couldn't be helped. Give up his identity or die? Easy choice.
"Stay still," Rappa grunted, a punch causing his arm to contort unnaturally as his Quirk came into play, the limb rotating at the shoulder in a blurring uppercut. Izuku flinched away, nauseated by the way the arm moved like it wasn't properly attached, like some sort of wind up toy, and vaulted a desk to get away. Rappa flung the desk aside, glass smashing and chemicals mixing, an acrid reek fouling the air, a swinging backhand coming at Izuku. He raised both arms to block, jumped just before the hit landed to try and waste some of the impact. It still sent him crashing into the wall next to the cracked window, a cry of pain not quite muffled. Rappa paused, laughing, and Izuku saw Eri behind him, still cowering in her corner and staring with wide, fearful eyes.
No.
He couldn't let her down. He wouldn't let her down. He'd promised he'd get her out, and Red Hood kept his promises. Izuku gritted his teeth and rose, breaths straining his chest with pain that he ignored. It was only pain. He'd had much worse.
"Determined little guy, aint'cha?" Rappa said cheerfully, advancing with his arms swinging loosely at his sides, "Not that I mind. I'm enjoying this, it'd be a shame to end it."
Izuku, for a moment, reflected on how his curiosity over Destro's writing had led him here, to get what would be the beating of a lifetime had he not been blessed with a life that regularly included getting beaten to a pulp. He had to admit, this wasn't his finest hour. His ribs pounded, his head throbbed, his shoulders ached from impacts and he definitely had a nasty bruise forming on his hip, where he'd been thrown into a table. Rappa, meanwhile, seemed to be in excellent health.
Seemed to be. Rappa ate hits like it was nothing, but Izuku had gotten in several good headshots and Rappa had flinched just a little when rubbing his chin. At a guess, his jaw was badly bruised. Weakened. A good shot or two and it should be broken, maybe that would cool Rappa's ardour. Izuku took a deep breath, fixing his eyes solidly on Rappa and lifted his fists, taking a ready stance. Rappa bounced on his toes, rotating his arms in that unnatural full circle.
"Alright, kiddo," he said, "Show me what you've got!"
Izuku wished he hadn't lost his gun.
Rappa closed fast, throwing out a lightning-quick jab that, given the metal reinforced straps across his knuckles, probably would have put Izuku down for the count had it landed. Izuku weaved past it, feinting towards the jaw, ducking the retaliatory left hook and putting three quick hits into Rappa's side, just under the ribs. Rappa grunted and swung an elbow that Izuku skipped back from, darting in again and taking the momentary opening to slam his fist into Rappa's jaw, metal on flesh, making the bigger man recoil. One more solid hit, just one more, Rappa brought his right fist down in a vertical slam, Izuku blocked despite the way it sent a shudder through his arm, twisted to swing his elbow and Rappa pulled his right arm back, rotating it the other way in a devastating uppercut. Izuku abandoned his strike in favour of a two-handed block but the impact rattled him, knocked him back and Rappa was on him like a lion on a wounded wildebeest. A right hook that Izuku blocked again, Rappa's left hand latching onto his right forearm and ripping his defence open enough for a fist to slam into his ribs, knocking the wind out of him in a wheezing exhalation, pain crunching through his side. Izuku slammed his foot into Rappa's shin and stomped, drawing a yelp of pain and striking for the throat, twisting free but Rappa hooked a foot around his leg and Izuku fell as he got away, thudding into the ground. He landed next to his knife and reached out, grabbing it and twisting back to his feet, slashing.
"That's no fun," Rappa snarled, a crimson line now drawn across his chest, "No fun at all!"
He lunged, bestial, one arm clamping over Izuku's forearm so he couldn't use the knife and the other wrapping around Izuku's torso, lifting him from the ground. Izuku smashed into a table and cried out, pain rocketing up his spine as Rappa slammed him onto the table, trapping his knife hand. Through the eye-holes of the mask Izuku could see the madness in his eyes, a massive hand wrapping around Izuku's throat and squeezing.
"Watch!" the man roared, spittle flying from behind the mask, "Watch, Eri! You could have avoided this! This is your fault, you chose to go with him!"
Izuku choked, hammered at the man but he didn't budge, muscles strong with mania, laughter tinged with insanity, the mask – the mask, vision blurring, white and black and almost skull-like and Izuku felt his eyes bulge, his hand slapping at the table, trying to find something, Bane so close and too strong and his fingers closed around something hard, the last of his oxygen burning in his agonised lungs and Izuku brought his hand up and slammed the fragment of chair-wood through the eye-hole of the mask. Bane shrieked, a string of curses in Japanese – Bane didn't know Japanese, did he - and Izuku flipped the knife in his pinned left hand into the air, caught it with his right and drove it through the muscled forearm pinning his left arm, ripping it down to lengthen the wound. Blood spurted in a garish spray, Ba – Rappa lurched back, screaming, his left hand pressed over his eye and Izuku dragged in an agonising breath, slid from the table, boneless. He landed on the floor, forcing himself to move, footsteps approaching and he reached out and grabbed a chair leg from the ground.
"You little fuck!"
Izuku twisted and swung the chair leg upwards, all of his remaining strength in the blow, and Rappa howled as it smashed into his groin. He bent forwards and Izuku found strength from somewhere, rising and swinging and on the second blow the leg broke Rappa's jaw with a meaty crack, thudding into the side of his head and felling him on the third. Izuku dragged in a breath of oxygen, so precious, burning like acid, and stumbled to the window, picking up his gun on the way. Three blows and it shattered, glass raining down. Rappa was down, fingers scrabbling at the ground – what did it take to keep that fucker down – and there were shouts in the corridor. A single step, an effort that made his already screaming head pound more savagely and Izuku kicked over a desk, the mingled chemicals catching and spewing toxic smoke. Izuku snatched up a labelled vial that he knew he might need before he retreated to the window and held out a hand.
"Eri," he rasped, his voice like sandpaper through his throat, "Hurry!"
Eri scurried over to him, her face worried in a way that didn't look right on such a small child. Muzzily Izuku realised that she hadn't screamed once, she was barely crying. Not a good sign for her mental health, but he was more concerned with her physical health at the moment.
"Alright," he said, swallowing painfully, "We'll go through the window. We just need to-"
"Stop!"
Izuku swivelled, the last of his adrenalin banishing his weakness. He pushed Eri behind himself, drawing his gun with his left hand, flicking off the safety and levelling it in one smooth motion. Chronostasis and the man behind him froze. Shin Nemoto, Izuku thought, another of the Eight Bullets. Nemoto's hand lingered next to his hip as though he was about to draw a gun, but Izuku had him beaten there. Chronostasis raised his hands and stepped forwards and Izuku twitched the muzzle of his gun to him.
"Eri," Chronostasis said, his voice smooth and commanding, "Come over here."
Eri shuddered slightly, pressing closer to Izuku. Chronostasis sighed.
"Don't be like this, Eri," he said, "You know it will only be worse. There isn't a way to escape-"
"You don't speak to her," Izuku interrupted, although it strained his throat to speak above a whisper. The barrel of the gun didn't shake, held securely in his prosthetic, and the world seemed to narrow around him. Just the gun and Chronostasis. Chronostasis turned his mask slightly, the beak pointing at Izuku and Izuku blinked hard, the hyper-focus fading away. Nemoto stepped to the side, standing alongside Chronostasis. Clearing his line of fire, Izuku thought.
"I don't care about you, boy," he said coldly, "You've proven more trouble than you're worth. Give back the girl and we'll make your death quick."
Izuku let out an incredulous little laugh.
"Make my death quick?" he asked, his voice made thready and weak by Rappa's choking, "You're acting like you've got the upper hand."
"Don't we?"
Izuku felt his lips curl into a sneer, an unconscious reaction.
"I'm the one with the gun ready," he pointed out. Nemoto chortled.
"With the safety on?" he mockingly asked. Izuku twitched his wrist, pulled the trigger and the bullet smashed a cluster of beakers and test-tubes on the table next to Nemoto, spraying him with liquid. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.
"Is it?" Izuku asked coldly. Chronostasis stepped away from Nemoto, making it harder for Izuku to pin them both down. The vial in his right hand was heavy. How many bullets did he have? Enough.
"You won't shoot us," Chronostasis said confidently, "You haven't got what it takes, boy. You aren't a killer."
Oh, if only he knew. But if Chronostasis wanted to believe that, let him. Shoot them both, Izuku thought, pull the trigger. Chronostasis first, then Nemoto, take the risk that Nemoto would draw in time, exit through the window.
Heroes didn't kill.
Red Hood was never a good Hero.
"What do you want?" Chronostasis asked suddenly. His hood had loosened, the arrow-like protrusions of his hair waving slightly: Izuku measured the distance between them, keeping a careful eye on the man, but he could feel his thoughts slowing. He needed to end this quickly, before his adrenalin gave out and he crashed.
"I want you to back out of the room and let us go," he said, very calmly, "And you're going to do it. Or I'm going to kill you."
Chronostasis laughed, high-pitched and chilling.
"Are you?" he asked, "I told you, you won't. But if you won't give up…Shin!"
Nemoto went for a pocket and Izuku threw the vial in his hand, shooting it out of the air. The contents rained down onto Shin and the toxic mess of chemicals on the ground, igniting the moment they met. Flames roared and blazed, quick and hungry, and Nemoto shrieked as his sodden coat caught fire, wrapping him in consuming fire.
Chronostasis lunged, closing fast, his hair separating out into those clock-like points, hands outstretched and reaching, confident and threatening and Izuku didn't think twice about swinging the gun back across and pulling the trigger.
Three explosions of blood blossomed on Chronostasis' white coat, marching from just below his ribcage to just under his chin, dead centre and Izuku fired the rest of the bullets in a spray at Nemoto as the man struggled free of his coat and brought his gun up, two bullets hitting Nemoto in the shoulder and the arm. A dart hit Izuku in the chest as he dropped the gun but he ignored it, turning, sweeping Eri into his arms and flinging them both out of the window in a single twisting leap that would have done Nightwing proud, putting his back first to protect Eri from any remaining shards of glass.
They fell.
Izuku could feel the sedative from the dart pumping into his system, Eri frozen in his arms and not screaming and he twisted his prosthetic fingers in a pattern he'd memorised, activating the grapple, threw out his arm and clenched his fist, firing the grapple without looking.
It struck, it held, the yank of the impact almost wrenching his shoulder out of its socket. Izuku bit off a choking scream as it pulled but he held on to Eri, twisting. The grapple killed much of his momentum but he misjudged his speed and his height, disengaging the grapple. Had he been in better condition he would have easily parkoured down the fire-escape ledges and walls. In his condition, he misjudged just a fraction, his foot slipping on the second fire escape and sending him plunging down. It wasn't as far as it could have been, perhaps five feet, but when he bounced off the wall and slammed back-first into the ground it felt like fifty. Izuku groaned, his vision flickering.
"Eri," he muttered, slurred, "Eri? Are you alright?"
"Come on," whispered her soft voice, "Come on. They'll be chasing us."
Izuku let out a drawn-out groan, but he stood. The alleyways. They could make it, he thought, even with him like this. He pulled the dart out of his chest with fingers that felt thick and clumsy, his vision narrowed to a thin slit around his feet as he struggled to keep his head up. In the end, he simply started to walk, leaning against the wall. A window slammed from above them.
"What the hell are you kids doing?" demanded an abrasive voice, scraping at the already-raw insides of his skull. Izuku bared his teeth.
"Mind your own fucking business!" he snarled back, voice gravelly. He was answered by a loud scoff and a slamming of the window and he gritted his teeth. Fucking Gothamites, he thought, not a shred of survival instinct between them. A small hand slipped into his, Eri, and he forced himself to continue, his thoughts fading into a jumble of static.
He snapped into awareness with a sudden jerk, he couldn't say how much later. He blinked, eyelids feeling gritted with sand, peering around him. An alleyway, one he didn't recognise. A tiny girl, Eri. He'd been sedated, he realised, as well as beaten, but who by? Who – not Scarecrow, he thought, no hallucinations. He stumbled but kept walking, past the point of exhaustion but moving through sheer will, still trying to work out who was chasing them. Bane – but Bane was dead, dead or crippled twice over. Riddler, Two-Face, Jo – him. Forehand or backhand – but they were all dead, weren't they? They were dead, and Clark…the Rogues were dead and so was he. Izuku stumbled into a wall, looking at his hand, realising. Remembering he wasn't Jason Todd. He leaned against a wall, Eri huddling against the brick next to him, and footsteps thudded soft behind them. Eri stiffened and Izuku closed his eyes.
They'd gotten so close.
Maybe, if he told Eri to run. If he stayed, tried to fight. But she was so young, she couldn't outrun a pursuer, which meant…which meant he'd have to stop them. Well, what was one more today? Izuku marshalled the dregs that remained of his strength and waited. Waited, until a hand fell on his shoulder and turned him around.
Izuku went with the movement, a clumsy backhand with his right hand, sloppy and attention-drawing and his left hand made the real strike, a knife-hand strike to the throat that would crush the windpipe and leave his enemy choking to death, quick as a whip. Somehow he managed it properly, even through the pain that chewed at every nerve, but his enemy was too good. Too quick. He felt his hand glance off a collarbone, heard a faint hiss of pain and then he was falling, toppling forwards, defeated.
A pair of arms caught him.
"Akatani?" asked a voice, one that he vaguely remembered, "Akatani Mikumo?"
Izuku focused as best he could, vision smeared with colours and darkness and a shaky picture resolved itself, just enough.
"Edgeshot?" he mumbled, throat closed by pain and tears, "Hero?"
"That's me, kid," Edgeshot said, expression inscrutable behind his mask but his hands gentle as he lay Izuku down on the cold ground. Expert hands pressed at his ribs, drawing a hiss of pain, and then Izuku lay there in a numbing, cotton-blanket fog as Edgeshot spoke. He surfaced only briefly when a much heavier thud landed next to him, a louder voice, strong arms lifting him from the ground. An instant of animal panic, Clark, before he recognised the voice, finally letting himself let go of his desperate clinging to consciousness.
"I've got you, young Midoriya, it'll be alright." All Might said, lifting him from the ground as darkness crawled through Izuku's mind. Izuku tried to speak but couldn't find the strength, hanging limp in the arms of the Hero, but he still heard the words.
"I've got you."
Not really a great deal to say for this one. Next update, planned date is probably the 9th September, I think? This was supposed to be a July update, so that should be accurate.
Oh, actually: resurrecting the whole 'Question of the Week' thing that I did a while back. Stain vs the Eight Bullets, how many do you think he could beat? I feel like he's got a decent chance against any of them 1v1, but once there's more than one he starts falling off hard.
Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, reviews are appreciated and, as ever, I'll see you in the next one.