REVENGE I: Momo
Stacks of matryoshka dolls grew in tottering stacks around Momo as she worked on speeding up her Quirk. She had worked on thinking on her feet, making split-second decisions in the heat of battle, but it would not avail her at all if her Quirk couldn't keep up with her mind.
A twinge of hunger came from her stomach. While still popping out matryoshka dolls, she unwrapped and bit into an energy bar. A rich, succulent flavor danced over her tongue, like fatty tuna tartare with flakes of crunchy salt that exploded on her tongue. She almost stopped to savor the experience before shaking off the culinary euphoria.
She switched to making weapons, forming whatever popped first into her mind. Nunchucks, quarterstaves, tonfa, and riot shields formed a miniature armory among the doll stacks. Her stomach rumbled loudly. Momo crammed another bar in her mouth and kept going.
More volatile chemicals came next. Flashbangs and explosives, canisters of tear gas. It was perhaps reckless of her to make such dangerous compounds while exhausted, but Recovery Girl was a short walk away, and she'd rather make a mistake at U.A. than out on the streets when lives were on the line.
Her stomach growled like an angry tiger. The sheer force of her hunger nearly made her stop in her tracks. Pushing past her exhaustion, she crammed two more bars in at once. Using that last surge of energy, she started forming another matryoshka doll. The creation sputtered out halfway, and an empty shell with a grinning face plopped to the ground.
Momo reached for another bar, but her shaking fingers lacked the strength to pick it up. She stared at her arm, horrified, taking in the distinct shape of her ulna and radius jutting from her shrunken skin. Looking down, her shirt had slipped off her shoulders, and she saw every one of her ribs. Her legs were mere twigs, too wobbly to help her rise from the floor. She felt at her face, gaunt and thin, sunken cheeks and jutting nose.
Clawing her way towards the door, Momo croaked, "Help. Somebody. Please."
The door opened. She stared gratefully up at the silhouette standing over her. "Need. Food."
The figure stooped. Paper crinkled in their hands as they unwrapped a hamburger. The greasy smell made her mouth water. Hands darting like snakes, Momo snatched the burger from their hands. For a moment, she felt bloated, satiated, alive again. Then the lump in her stomach shrunk. Before her very eyes, her fingers and hands shrank to the bones. She felt saggy, like her skin had nothing left to cling to. As the world grew grey, she heard the figure say, "Oh, terribly sorry, Momo, how silly of me!" They leaned close enough for Momo to dimly make out the visage of the Count. "That was a fat-free plant-based burger."
Once Momo stopped moving, the Count took out a list and struck out Momo's name.
"One down. Five to go."
498
Fat free burgers are the true evil of the world.