Rumi Usagiyama, the up-and-coming rabbit hero known fairly well throughout Japan and a contender for the prestigious Top Ten list of heroes to be released later in the year, was fairly certain she was about to die. Her heart hammered in her chest as she soared through the air, her perception of time warped as she scanned for something, anything to save her from the hail of bullets and inevitable crash into the pavement far below. Another round whizzed past her back, just barely cutting through the fabric of her pajamas as she continued to fly over the street toward the apartment building parallel to her own. Her trajectory was, luckily enough, about to carry her toward a cheaply-made wrought iron balcony with a glass door leading into the apartment. Perhaps less luckily, he sailed clear over the railing and into the panel, shattering it as she tucked her chin and hit the glass hard with her shoulder.

With a loud shattering noise, Rumi burst through the sliding door and landed with force on the carpet of the living room in a series of rolls. Shards of glass buried themselves into her skin, adding to the sensation of burning pain that had overtaken more or less her entire body. The pro hero gasped for air, coughing up blood as she looked over toward the balcony where another smoking, multicolored, high caliber round had embedded itself in the side of the door frame. Any slower, any closer, and she would have been dead… but Rumi knew not to count herself as having escaped so quickly. With great effort, she tried to force herself to move in the darkened room, only to find that she couldn't seem to get up. Try as she might, her limbs refused to obey her, and a sense of intensified panic began to take hold.

A light turned on somewhere to Rumi's right, and she craned her neck around the coffee table she had landed near to try to see who had come for her. She was met with the sight of a little boy in pajamas of his own who couldn't have been older than ten covering his mouth in horror.

"Dad!"

Thundering footsteps came from down the adjacent hall, and it took only seconds for a burly man to enter the room and put himself between Rumi and the terrified child. Another lamp was turned on and Rumi blinked, momentarily unable to see in the sudden shift in contrast.

"Who the hell… wait, I recognize you!"

"You do?" Rumi asked, before letting out a series of coughs. "There's… an assassin nearby! Don't leave this place! Lock your door… call my agency… get Hawks…"

"I'm calling an ambulance," the man asserted. "And then I'm calling the police, and U.A.. They'll be able to send help, and you need medical attention."

Rumi coughed up more blood and reached out a hand as the man said something to his son, who scampered off to another section of the apartment. Through the ringing in her ears, Rumi could no longer make out what was going on as the man leaned over her. Though she could see his mouth move, she had absolutely no idea what he was saying as he pressed something warm and soft into her side. Almost immediately, a searing pain shot down her rib cage to somewhere deep in her thigh, and then, everything went black.

Elsewhere in the city, a man entirely unrelated to the incident involving the assassin across town, but not unfamiliar with crime in general, arrived at his own apartment carrying several brown paper bags. Liquor bottles were stuffed inside to the point of almost tearing the bags open, and the man kept a bear hug around them to protect his precious cargo. Slowly and carefully, he bent down to deposit the alcohol on the floor next to his apartment door and fished his keys out of the side pocket of his black track pants. With a quick glance down either side of the hall, he pulled his matching black beanie down a bit farther over his forehead and unlocked the door reading 307.

With careful precision, the man used his foot to slowly push the door wide open before returning to his bags. One by one he slid them into the apartment next to the door, working as quickly and quietly as he could. After successfully bringing the bottles inside, he took one final look all around himself and stepped inside, closing the door and double locking it with a deadbolt. Finally, he allowed himself a huge sigh of relief and reached up to remove his beanie. His short blond hair fanned out slightly after being freed from the fabric into an unkempt style that matched the man's overall vibe. It had been days since he had bothered to shave, and he had forgotten when he had last showered. There was no time… or he was too tired. He had forgotten which excuse he had used to justify skipping out again that particular morning.

"Nice haul."

One of the bags tipped over and crashed against the wooden floor as the man stumbled in surprise. He quickly knelt down to check the damage, and luckily, found that all of the bottles had survived the fall. With clenched teeth and a frantic swivel of his neck, he stared in all directions at the darkness of the apartment, trying to locate the source of the voice. It didn't take long at all to notice the out of place figure on the couch. At first, the person appeared to be almost ghostlike. At second glance, it became clear that whoever they were, they were worse than a ghost.

Tomura Shigaraki seemed to almost fuse into the fabric of the couch as he sat leaning back into the cushion, looking bored. He was wearing all black much like the owner of the apartment, making him quite hard to see in the semidarkness. The only real giveaway of his position was his silvery blue hair catching a bit of moonlight through the nearby window, and the small patch of his face that was likewise illuminated. The man in the doorway could see the jagged scar on Tomura's lip as it twisted into a devious smile just a moment before he leaned forward and cupped his hands between his knees. Tomura's posture was awful, almost resembling that of a shrimp as he let out a raspy chuckle and allowed his hair to fall into his face, obscuring it. The sight was enough to make the other man shiver as he slowly strafed in the opposite direction of Tomura with his back to the wall.

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded. Like flicking a switch, his trepidation and confusion shifted entirely to anger, and he clenched his teeth. "And what the hell are you doing in my apartment!? I have a gun!"

"On you?" Tomura asked calmly as he craned his neck sideways to track the man's movements. "Or just in here? I'm closer to the bedroom. You'll never reach it in time. The smart move would just be to listen… especially since you don't know what I'm capable of. Be smart, Jin. No one has to get hurt tonight. Calm yourself."

Jin Bubaigawara, a man who wasn't keen on sharing his name, or any details about his personal life with anyone, flinched. One of his eyes twitched as he watched Tomura rise from the couch and dust off his pants. Jin's expression twisted into a sneer as he walked farther into the kitchen and grabbed a long knife from the butcher's block on the counter. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the blade free from its wooden confines and thrust it out toward Tomura with an accusatory flair.

"How do you know my name?" Jin demanded. "You been going through my shit while I was out? Trust me, buddy, you don't want to mess with me. You don't know what I'm capable of… and I ain't the type to call the police and let them sort it out. I'll handle you myself!"

"The police, huh?" Tomura asked as he meandered through the living room with Jin tracking his movements with the knife all the while. "Seems to me like they're a little busy tonight, anyway… but that's what it's all about it, isn't it? Stealing while the fuzz is otherwise occupied. You're an opportunist, Jin."

"Stop calling me Jin," the man grumbled, his knife hand shaking slightly. "We're not friends!"

"Aren't we?" Tomura asked as he stopped near a floor lamp. "You capitalize on chaos just like I do… and neither of us follows the rules set upon society by so-called heroes. After all, we want the same thing, don't we? Freedom to just… be ourselves."

Jin watched as Tomura opened his mouth, an odd mist rolling from within it to coat the lamp. In seconds, the piece of furniture had turned to stone, effectively becoming a long, weighty bludgeon. Tomura knelt and grabbed the power cord, its length crumbling to dust. As he righted himself once again, he grabbed the heavy, makeshift staff, leaving his pinky finger off the shaft as he hoisted it into a battle stance.

"…listen, I-I don't know what the hell you think you're on about," Jin stammered as he took a step backward, his fear returning. "But I don't want any trouble. Just leave! Take the booze, if that's what you want!"

"Alcohol?" Tomura questioned with a rattling laugh. "No, that's not my style… I want something much more important than that. I want you."

"Me?" Jin asked as he lifted his free hand up to his forehead. He rubbed at the long scar trailing down from his hairline to between his brows, the area beginning to ache the longer he listened to Tomura. "For what? Why me? Start making sense!"

"It'll all make sense, soon," Tomura reassured as he gave the petrified lamp a little spin. "All you need to do is come with me and meet someone very interested in your particular set of talents. My employer is tired of living under the bootheel of hero society, just like you are… and we're both forced to keep to the shadows, slinking about to avoid persecution, too. What do you say, Jin? Doesn't it sound fun, just having the opportunity to let loose? Maybe you'll make some friends along the way. Friends sick of it all, and wondering why they even bother to keep living. Friends that won't judge you. Any of you."

Jin dropped the knife to the tile floor of the kitchenette and grabbed his head with both hands. Something about the way Tomura spoke to him caused the usual dull ache in the back of his mind to turn into an active, hammering throb that was beginning to drive him mad. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth even harder as he backed up, running into the edge of the counter. Jin began breathing hard as a single thought echoed over and over again in his mind in a cacophony of different voices.

He wanted it to stop.

All of it.

Katsuki woke to the sound of his usual alarm. Without a second thought he rolled over and grabbed his phone, turning the irritating noise off without even bothering to look at the screen. He knew it had to be five in the morning, and like on so many other nights, he had slept like absolute shit. Though the temptation to roll back over and simply fall back sleep was strong, Katsuki refused to give in to it. He prided himself on never once doing so, and the sound Eijiro snoring from the other nearby bed gave him additional resolve to get up and leave the room.

Without a second thought, and not bothering to be quiet or gentle with the door, Katsuki made his way out into the darkened hall of the dormitory floor. The boy allowed himself an overheard stretch and cursed under his breath, his shoulder popping and sending a dull ache down through the center of his back. With a grimace, Katsuki rolled his neck and began to pad along the carpet and toward the communal bathroom as he lit up his phone once again. There was a message waiting that he hadn't seen when shutting off his alarm- a message that filled him with an immediate wash of guilt and stopped him in his tracks as he read it.

Mom, 11:08 PM

So I take it this means you're not coming by tonight? I understand. Hope everything is okay…

"Fuck," Katsuki swore as he lifted a hand and rubbed at his forehead. He truly hadn't meant to blow her off, and he really didn't like the feeling that the revelation gave him... or the knowledge of what he would have to do to make it up to her. "God damn it…"

Author's Note:

Lots going on all at once. Only going to get more complicated as classes begin…

-RD