Note: There will be a brief mention of presumed CSA in this chapter. It is nothing graphic and is about 2 paragraphs long, but just wanted to give you a heads up.
The Idaten Agency conference room is set up to seat thirty, with space left between the chairs to accommodate any mutant quirks or additional support equipment the heroes or sidekicks might have. The ceilings are tall, the marble floor polished until it's eye-searingly shiny, and the walls a shade of white that somehow conveys class instead of sterility. The floor-to-ceiling windows running the length of the far wall let in an abundance of natural light, while allowing the occupants an unfettered view of the city park. It's lovely this time of year, with flowering trees in full bloom and the grass vibrantly green and perfectly manicured. The cheery sight feels wrong, considering the topic they've gathered to discuss.
With only a third of the seats occupied, the conference room should feel overwhelmingly large. Instead, the air is stifling and claustrophobic as they each flip through their copy of the incident report, expressions ranging from grim to incredulous to resigned. This is not a topic anyone wants to discuss.
Onitsuka Hifumi closes the file and leans back in his chair, eyes closed as guilt and an old sorrow rise to fill his throat. They're old friends by now, years of hero work familiarizing him with the way his chest aches when faced with people he can't help. But it still burns like a fresh wound every single time he gets a new glimpse into the life of Midoriya Izuku. Five heroes were on the scene and he still managed to slip away before anyone took enough notice to realize he also needed help. Most villains would have considered it a lucky break, but Hifumi can't help but think that Izuku would not be amongst that number. It's probably wishful thinking, though; he should know better than to project such hopes onto a boy no one truly knows anything about.
Eventually, one by one, the soft rustling of flipping pages fades away. No one speaks at first, each person presumably lost in thought or processing their own feelings on the subject. Beneath the table, Hifumi drums his fingers against his thigh, muscles tensing automatically in response to the touch. His stomach hurts, an instinctive kind of response as his body clocks his stress and readies itself for quirk usage, and he wonders who will be the first to break the silence that's fallen heavy over the cavernous room. Although he's never been a betting man, his money would be on—
"Five heroes," Aizawa says, his voice biting and harsh as he shatters the silence, "and not one of you thought to check if the kid who just stepped in to save the victim you were there for was alright."
The newly gathered heroes all react to the accusatory words, bristling or flinching, and he watches them and assesses; the way someone responds to these sorts of high-stress and heavy-blame situations says a lot about the kind of hero they are. He's not sure he likes what he sees, which is disappointing since he's worked with some of these heroes before—but it's never been his place to say anything.
(Of course, that sort of thinking is exactly what got him wrapped up in this mess in the first place. He doubts any of his old team would be surprised to hear that he still hasn't learned his lessons. They'd probably be disappointed to know that not even their deaths could make him a more outspoken person.)
Hifumi smiles behind his mask, just the barest rueful twitch at the corners of his mouth. He'd figured that Aizawa would be the one to break the stalemate. His fellow teacher has never been the kind of person to bite back his anger or frustration, especially when children (and this child in particular) are involved. Doubly so in an almost catastrophic event like this one, where heroes are the ones who directly failed the child. His willingness to speak out is something he's always admired about the man.
"H-hey now, I don't think that's fair—"
Aizawa raises his voice, speaking over Slugger's weak protests like he doesn't even hear them. Even though it's not directed at him, Hifumi feels goosebumps rise across his flesh at the quiet fury that burns in Aizawa's gaze.
"The kid had a knife, which he used to gravely injure the villain you were all wringing your hands over, subduing said villain in mere minutes while sustaining injuries, and no one said a word to him, except to scold him."
"It wasn't as simple as all that," Death Arms chimes in, a heavy frown pulling his face into something even more severe than usual. "There was a lot going on. We were all focused on containing the villain, or controlling the fires, or keeping onlookers away from the scene. I can assure you that there was every intention of directing the kid to the medics and interviewing him once things settled down, and no reason for us to think that he wouldn't stick around long enough for us to do so. Besides, there was no way we could have known that he was…who he is."
It shouldn't have mattered who he is, Hifumi thinks, and can tell that Aizawa's opinion on the matter lines up with his own. Both of the children's wellbeing should have been the priority, and the fact that one of them carried a weapon should have been enough of a red flag to indicate they needed to keep a closer eye on him.
Aizawa's eyes flash as he flares his quirk like a warning, hair lifting from his shoulders as his glowing red gaze lands on Death Arms. It's only a brief flash, and Hifumi wonders if it might just be instinct at this point after using it to silence rowdy students for so long, but it has the man cringing back like he wishes he'd never spoken up. He gets over it quickly enough, though, puffing up like a cat readying itself for a fight the second Aizawa allows his quirk to drop, who scowls heavily as his hair falls once more to messily frame his face.
"Anyone who had just used a weapon in full view of witnesses would probably not want to stick around," Ingenium chimes in, just a touch too cheerfully. It's a dangerous tone for him to take, considering the circumstances, but he doesn't seem to notice or care about the looks sent his way. If they hadn't known one another since their school days, Hifumi is fairly sure that Aizawa's glare would have melted Ingenium's armor. Hifumi can't help but think that beneath the anger, Aizawa looks terribly worn down. The usual bags beneath his eyes seem darker and heavier today, more like bruises, and his skin is craggy and pale, dotted with several more days' worth of patchy stubble than usual. He looks like he needs a nap, a shower, and a therapist. And not necessarily in that order, either.
Hifumi watches silently as Aizawa refuses to rise to the challenge Death Arms is posing, looking away from Ingenium to turn a dark glare across the gathered party of newcomers instead. They all stare back at him, trying to keep their heads high, though the expressions are varied. His next words are low and steady, yet dripping with acid.
"I've reviewed the footage of the incident from every possible angle and source. I'm extremely disappointed by what I saw."
Kamui Woods and Mount Lady both drop their gazes, studying the table, unable to meet anyone's eye. They may not have attended UA, but Hifumi has no doubt that they recognize Eraserhead from inter-school events; the man is a bit of a legend for his unforgiving attitude and expulsion rates. Not to mention the fact that the pair are fresh enough that a scolding from a teacher still scares them, and Aizawa has the disappointed-and-angry teacher voice down to an art. If the situation were any less serious, the thought might have been funny.
"Eraserhead, this isn't what we called them here for," a soft voice interjects, stern but gentle. In the handful of occasions he's met him, Hifumi has always been rather impressed by Detective Tsukauchi's ability to approach difficult situations with an unfaltering serenity. Judging by the look those words are met with, he doubts that Aizawa feels the same way.
Still, Hifumi watches as he breathes deeply, visibly forcing some of the tension in his shoulders to seep away. Once he's calmed himself, Aizawa gives a curt nod and slumps back into his seat again, arms crossed loosely over his chest. There's a distinct sense of disgruntlement in his posture, like he's more than prepared to begin ripping into them again at the slightest provocation, but is allowing himself to be brought to heel for the time being. Another small smile twitches behind Hifumi's mask, distant fondness for his coworker stirring. In their few short years of working together, Aizawa has never been the kind of man to inspire warm feelings, but Hifumi has always enjoyed seeing him passionate about things. For as terrible as the circumstances are, he does appreciate that these debriefings allow him to see both the man's bark and bite directed at someone besides first-years with over-inflated egos.
"So, are you planning on explaining what you called us here for or not?" Death Arms asks, obviously trying his best to hide how ruffled the scolding has left him under a gruff exterior. His heavy-lidded gaze moves carefully between Aizawa and the detective, like he's assessing each of them as a potential threat. Hifumi isn't sure whether he finds it rude that he would have such a lack of faith in their fellow heroes, or whether he finds the man foolish for only now realizing he's in a room full of potentially dangerous people; he should have done that assessment before he'd even sat down, if he was going to do it at all.
Seconds stretch in silence as some wordless conversation (or perhaps a battle of wills) plays out as the detective and Aizawa determine which of them will be the one to present today. These moments are something Hifumi's never been very keen on trying to understand, and is more than happy to never take part in. Some unspoken agreement is reached, and the detective heaves a sigh, his face grim but resolute as he leans across the wide table to grab for the small remote. Ingenium slides it over to him without lifting his eyes from the file in his hands, attention trained on what Hifumi is fairly confident must be the most recent picture of Izuku's uncovered face. It's not surprising, since this is the clearest image they've been able to capture of him in a decade. The quality of news cameras vastly outweighs that of security footage or shaky cell phone pictures, and he's sure this is the clearest any of them have seen him since they met him in person themselves. None of them can be blamed for staring a little longer than necessary, Ingenium and Aizawa most of all.
The room dims as Tsukauchi fiddles with the controls, shades closing and half the lights switching off with the click of a button. A projector comes to life with a quiet hum, and the plain white wall is suddenly bathed in crimson. Mount Lady squeaks, and when Hifumi steals a glance towards her, he sees she's gone pale behind her mask, one hand raised to cover her mouth. He wonders idly if this is the first time she's seen an uncensored photo of a murder scene. If so, then her prior education and internships have done her a great disservice by sending her into the field so unprepared for the realities of their profession. Part of him almost feels bad that she's being thrown into this so early into her career, especially since it seems rather apparent her goal was to be a daytime hero, but this is the reality of the profession she'd chosen. Ready or not, regardless of the kind of work she hoped to do, she now has a target painted on her back.
"Although by far not his first victim, Lady Lightning was the first confirmed hero killed by the man the media has dubbed Stain," Tsukauchi narrates, his expression hard and his gaze trained on the wall beside the now familiar picture. "Further investigation, spurred by an anonymous tip, revealed that she was responsible for several fires that caused the deaths of 47 civilians over the span of her 16 year career."
Someone hisses through their teeth, the slight gurgle making him think it might be Backdraft, but Hifumi doesn't tear his eyes away from the grizzly sight to confirm. A picture of Lady Lightning is placed in the upper right corner of the display, taken from her hero license, and her smile is warm and kind. He remembers how her death and the subsequent reveal of her wrongdoings had rocked the hero community, and how quickly the HPSC scrambled to put out official statements and quiet the media frenzy that followed. The stump of his left leg itches as Tsukauchi flips to the next slide and another murmur rolls through the group. Tsukauchi continues, seemingly unbothered by the quiet interruptions or the bloody mess.
"Four days later, the hero killer struck again, this time killing the hero Superior. Similarly, further investigation spurred by another anonymous tip led to the reveal of an illegal gambling ring, which dealt in more than money."
Detective Tsukauchi pauses as though waiting for questions, but none seem forthcoming. Of course they had all heard about this case. Hifumi's thoughts wander toward the files he'd read about Superior's activities and the dead-eyed gazes of the people he'd helped escort from the building during the raid. That had been the first time he'd personally dealt with human trafficking, and the aftermath still haunts him sometimes. Superior's license picture shows only a gentle eyed man, with no hint of the atrocities he was capable of.
Another murmur of horror alerts him to the fact that they've moved on to the next slide. Hifumi doesn't need to look to know what inspired it. After all, he's sat through this same briefing enough times by now to know it by heart.
This is the only murder scene with a body front and center, because the hero had been in the middle of fusing with the wall at the time of his death, and it had taken specialized equipment to remove him. His license photo shows a kid fresh out of hero college with messy orange hair and bright blue eyes, determination written plainly across his face. Slugger mumbles something that might be curses or prayers beneath his breath, and Hifumi can't blame him. It's always hard to see that picture contrasted with the foggy-eyed, gaping-mouthed reality of his death.
"Major Tom was the third victim, nearly two weeks later. It was found that he had been accepting bribes from local drug dealers to turn a blind eye to their activities. This was the beginning of a pattern. In every city he is active in, Stain strikes three times, though he does not always kill his victims."
Hifumi feels the phantom tingle of discomfort in his legs. He shifts a bit, the lightweight metal of his prostheses feeling suddenly like they weigh a hundred pounds each. He ignores the way his brain is trying to convince him that the tendons of his knees are still lit up in agony from being severed, or the pins-and-needles ache of circulation being cut off. Beneath the table, he gently massages the flesh above where the prostheses end, trying to remind his traitorous body that there's nothing there to hurt anymore.
"I don't know about the rest of these guys, but I've already been briefed on the hero killer," Slugger cuts in, and his leathery fingers tap a steady rhythm against the tabletop. Hifumi has worked with him once or twice, and recognizes the motion as stemming more from anxiety than irritation. "Hell, that monster killed one of my friends last year, but this Midoriya kid wasn't a part of the conversation then, so I don't get why you're telling us all this right now."
"Because all of you need to understand what, exactly, you may find yourselves mixed up with," Ingenium speaks up. His hands are folded on the table in front of him, and his eyes are steely behind his glasses. The helmet sitting on the table beside him shines red in the dim light of the conference room, reflecting the gorey images projected on the wall. Hifumi shudders and tears his eyes away. "Any of you may end up being targeted next."
The cacophony of multiple heroes speaking up at once rises, but Kamui Woods's words cut through the din before they can get too absorbed in their own protests.
"If this Stain individual, and Midoriya Izuku by extension, are such a threat, then why hasn't there been widespread distribution of this information?" he asks, his voice low and carefully controlled. There's the faintest hint of a tremor caught somewhere in the back of his throat, though, and Hifumi can't tell if the cause is fear or anger. "If Stain has killed three heroes, then surely—"
"Seventeen," Aizawa interrupts, and his lip is curled in a scowl that is, unfortunately, also familiar by now. The number seems to grow every time they have one of these meetings. The silence that fills the room is suffocating.
"Seventeen heroes?" Backdraft echoes, sounding like he's speaking from miles underwater. Hifumi glances towards him, taking in the way he hunches forward. Past him, Mount Lady has gone grey beneath her mask, looking vaguely faint. Maybe they should offer water or something. He probably has a few granola bars in his bag he could sacrifice.
"Seventeen dead, another seven with severe and oftentimes career-ending injuries," Ingenium speaks up, gaze darting between the case file and the gathered heroes. His fingers are tapping at the surface of the table, and Hifumi wonders if he's composing an email to Koichi about this newest development in his mind. Even with The Crawler no longer operating in Japan, Tensei always seems eager to keep him in the loop. No one has ever deemed it necessary to fill Hifumi in on what role the vigilante-turned-international-hero played in all of this, and he's never felt it his place to ask.
Ingenium smiles bitterly and adds, "Eight injured, if you count me."
"Wait, wait!" Death Arms snaps, eyes wild as they dart between the blood covered picture on the wall, Ingenium, and the detective. "None of us are killing civilians or dealing drugs or whatever else in our spare time, so why do we need to worry about being targeted?"
"It would be simpler if those were the only types of people being targeted." The bitter ghost of a smile slips from Ingenium's face, leaving only a painful sort of pity. "Unfortunately, from what we've been able to gather, any act deemed unheroic is enough to paint a potential target on your back, and being seen near Izuku is another strike against you. It just might not get you killed outright."
"What the hell does that mean?"
The detective glances towards Hifumi, the same unspoken question in his gaze that he always has when they inevitably reach this point in the conversation. It's always a crap shoot whether they'll end up going over Ingenium's run in with "Stendhal" first or his own with "Stain", but he sort of wishes it had been Ingenium today. Still, might as well get it over with.
Hifumi dips his head in acquiescence and braces himself; it's always unnerving to see his own face projected on the wall. The sight of the blood soaked bandages and his own battered form laid out in a hospital bed is never any easier to get used to.
"The hero Ectoplasm," Tsukauchi says, and Hifumi feels the weight of their stares turning towards him. "The first hero to survive their encounter with Stain."
He doesn't bother to stand, but raises one hand in acknowledgement. His legs are itching. He knows that they're all wondering what crimes he committed to get himself targeted. Luckily, Tsukauchi answers before anyone voices any accusations. (They've learned from past mistakes.)
"The only survivor from a raid gone wrong, with casualties including both civilians and heroes."
"Why would he—you—be a target, though?" Slugger asks, his eyes darting between Hifumi and the picture of his injuries.
"I was leading the raid, and therefore the first on the site," Hifumi says, then pauses, having to swallow several times before he can continue. "My team had received a tip in the hours leading up to the raid that there was more to the case than previously believed. I had doubts about the plan, but didn't voice them. I missed crucial pieces of evidence that indicated that there were traps laid for us, and it resulted in casualties. I took full responsibility for the deaths that occurred. You can take your pick of reasons."
"So the bastard targeted you for a tragic accident."
"It was preventable," Hifumi corrects, his voice soft but firm. He's spent too many sleepless nights going over every second of that raid to allow anyone to say any differently. "I was cocky, as were my teammates. I just happened to be the one to walk away unscathed."
The universe certainly has an ironic sense of justice. He often wonders if it was intentional or purely coincidental that Stain's attack ended in the amputation of both of his legs. He wonders whether Izuku knew what he was doing when he crept closer as soon as Stain was gone, hands trembling as he made tourniquets out of items scavenged from dumpsters or pulled from his pack, tears flowing freely as he whispered soft apologies, Hifumi's blood staining his skin and clothes. None of the doctors had been able to tell him whether he would have kept his legs, if the blood circulation hadn't been cut off for as long as it was. No one's been able to confirm whether he would have died from the blood loss without the tourniquets, either. He thinks he prefers it that way.
"Ectoplasm, you faced the hero killer head on, which is more than anyone else in this room can claim," Kamui Woods says, steepling his fingers. There's a fire in his eyes as he leans forward, meeting Hifumi's gaze and holding it. Judging by the confidence on his countenance, he seems more than ready to take control of the conversation if necessary. It's easy to see why he's already climbed so far up the rankings, despite his young age. "What can you tell us of what you observed during your encounter with him?"
Hifumi settles back into his chair, fingers tapping at his thigh again as he considers. The display is still showing the bloodied alleyway he'd been found in, and the stark white of the hospital bedsheets laid out over his freshly amputated legs. That had been a stomach churning thing to wake up to. He sometimes relives the moment he'd reached down and felt nothing, waking up from nightmares and reaching out again to check, living the horrible moment again and again in the confusion between sleep and wakefulness. It never gets easier.
The sunlight outside has grown dimmer and the scars on both his residuums are aching; there'll be a storm rolling through soon. Hifumi takes a deep breath and tries not to feel too glad that it doesn't stutter in his lungs.
"I'm afraid my experience with him doesn't give us much to go off of. He was fast, and he fought dirty," he decides to open with, working to keep his voice steady. It's easier to deliver this like a report, impartial and distant. "A paralysis quirk of some kind was used, and it worked frighteningly well. I was struck from behind, and though I don't remember it well, the doctors reported that I had several shallow cuts on my back and arms, indicating that he was able to attack multiple times and use his quirk before I could even turn around. I only caught a brief glimpse of Stain before I was rendered unable to move, and collapsed face down. It was dark and he wore a mask over the top half of his face, so I'm afraid it's difficult to give a physical description. Dark hair, a wiry build, and I'd guess that he was in his early to mid 30's. He wore dark clothes, some kind of body armor, and I can tell you with certainty that he was outfitted with an armory's worth of blades.
"He liked to talk, which is maybe the only reason I'm still alive. He spent several minutes ranting about hero society, and how the kind of scum that won't speak up for themselves or for what's right doesn't deserve a role in it. Then, he stabbed through both of my knees. I was on my stomach, unable to move, so the blade went through the popliteal fossa, one after the other. He didn't kill me. I think…I think perhaps he just wanted to hear me scream."
He hears someone hiss something about Stain being a coward, attacking people who are immobilized and unable to fight back, and he just knows that Aizawa or Ingenium will have a lot to say about how that's the whole point, and is exactly what makes him so dangerous. Stain doesn't care about holding himself to the kind of rigid standards he holds the heroes he attacks to; he has already written himself off as a worthwhile sacrifice to his own cause. Everything he does is to ensure that others are upholding his impossible standards, to work towards the fanatical future he envisions for the world. He seems to have his own twisted version of a moral code, but it is different from the one he applies to others.
(The implications for what he expects of Izuku make Hifumi sick to think about.)
Aizawa's lips part, but Hifumi catches his eye before he can speak, shaking his head. They will have time for that particular conversation after they've discussed Izuku's role in this; plus, he doesn't particularly want to be sidetracked by the moral debates that these things always seem to devolve into. Besides, he isn't finished talking yet. He waits for Aizawa to silently concede, refusing to shrink beneath the glare, before continuing.
"Things get a little spotty after that, as you can imagine. Stain was continuing his preaching, but there was a second voice that joined soon after, as well. I couldn't hear what was being said, and I didn't know about Izuku at the time, so I assumed a child had stumbled upon the scene. I think…I think maybe I told him to run. I'm not sure. It sounded like there was an argument, but eventually Stain crouched in front of me, and told me that he was leaving, and if I lived it was so I could spread his manifesto to others. I just remember seeing his boots, and the spikes on the toes, and all I could think of was how easily he could use them to blind me, or even to kill me, but he didn't do anything else. He just left. Izuku stayed a little longer after that, though. He apologized over and over as he did what he could to treat my wounds, and then he was gone, too. I couldn't tell you when the paralysis wore off, exactly, but it was over by the time I was found. No one's been able to figure out exactly how long the quirk's effects last, but I'd estimate it was approximately ten minutes. It's hard to say."
"Has it been confirmed which of them has the paralysis quirk?" Death Arms asks, brow furrowed in thought. His eyes keep darting towards Hifumi, then away again. The attention is a little uncomfortable, but he's mostly just grateful that the conversation is moving on without any awkward pause for platitudes. That happens sometimes, and Hifumi is never quite sure what to say in response.
"We've recovered some evidence that strongly suggests that it's Stain's quirk, but we don't know for sure," Detective Tsukauchi says. "Izuku was kidnapped before his quirk was registered, so it's entirely possible that Stain was present for its manifestation, and decided that Izuku's abilities provided an opportunity to further his own goals."
"It's also possible he's just a sick bastard who likes little kids on top of murdering heroes," Slugger spits, and Hifumi cringes. His stomach flips as his quirk threatens to creep up his throat.
From his spot beside him, he feels Yagi violently flinch before sinking deeper into his seat with a quiet sound of pain. Across from them, Aizawa's face is utterly blank, which can only mean that his fury and his guilt are eating him from the inside. It's a topic that none of them particularly like thinking about, but it is a possibility, no matter how terrible; the list of reasons why someone—especially a known serial killer—would take a young child and keep them alive for an extended period of time is frighteningly short. Hifumi sometimes finds himself looking at his niece, or his students, and thinking of Izuku's dirty, tear-streaked face. He remembers the bruises and the scars he saw peeking out from beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, grasping fingers emblazoned in purples and greens, and feels a weight settle itself in his stomach, heavy and cold. Izuku being trafficked for only his quirk is one of the best case scenarios, as awful as it is to consider.
"Perhaps that is the case, too," the detective agrees mildly. Mount Lady makes a quiet sound of horror, but the rest of them have been in the business long enough to at least acknowledge the dark truths. For all that he doesn't wear a hero costume, Tsukauchi has perfected his mask, too. "We have no confirmation either way, and no idea what Midoriya Izuku's quirk may be. What we do know is that he is often at the scene of the attacks, or at least the ones that leave witnesses. It's been reported that he himself has participated in several attacks, though he has no confirmed kills. We know he sometimes provides medical attention afterward before fleeing the scene. We also know that in the case of the murders, anonymous tips have been called in for approximately 75% of the victims that lead to the discovery of illicit activities, which range widely in severity. Some reports indicate that the tipster sounds young, so it is possible that these come from Izuku himself."
"Okay, wait, wait! I'm sorry, but…this is a kid. Now it sounds like you're saying he actively participates in this shit. I thought he was a victim." Mount Lady says, and her voice trembles a bit like she's hoping someone will tell her she's wrong. The folder is open on the table in front of her, pages lopsided and spilling out over the edges of their manila casing. A copy of Izuku's first missing poster, featuring a brightly smiling four year old, sits on top. Her fingertips rest carefully on the edge of the paper, twitching every now and then like she's resisting the urge to run her fingers along the edge. She's risking a paper cut. "He's not…I mean, you keep talking about Stain like he's the dangerous one, but do we need to be on our guard around this kid, too?"
"It's not in the way you're thinking, but Midoriya Izuku does factor heavily into why we have reason to believe you're in danger," Aizawa tells her blandly. The glossy picture from the recent encounter catches the light as he lays it on the table, turned away so that the boy's guarded expression isn't directed at him. Izuku's hair appears to have been either dyed or covered by a wig, but he is unmistakable regardless, freckles and scar and the glint of green eyes, plain looking yet somehow still too distinctive to be anyone else. Hifumi will never forget those eyes, shining with tears and almost luminous in the darkness of the alley.
"Heroes who find themselves within his vicinity often end up targeted for one reason or another, and if Izuku is in the area, that means Stain is active, too."
"I'm sure you all remember the incident with Ingenium being attacked a few years back," the detective hedges, eyes falling towards the two youngest heroes in the room, who both look vaguely offended at being singled out.
They both nod, and Mount Lady crosses her arms, head tipped as she says, "Of course we do. That video was pretty much everywhere."
"Of course," the detective echoes dryly.
Ingenium does not outwardly react to the reminder of what Hifumi is sure he considers one of his greatest failures being so widely publicized. It takes a certain strength to move past something like that, especially when it's brought up so often it's virtually inescapable. It's bad enough when he has to speak briefly of what was a comparatively private incident; Hifumi isn't sure he'd be as strong as Ingenium is, were he in the same situation.
With another click of the remote, a clip from the video plays, silent as it loops over and over. They see Ingenium kneeling before a skin-and-bones wisp of a child, his own heavy coat draped over the boy's shoulders as they talk. The brief flicker of hope in the boy's features is visible despite the shaky cell phone footage, as well as the way hope turns quickly to horror as he sees something over the hero's shoulder. An attack so sudden there's no time to warn him and then Ingenium is on the ground, bleeding and disoriented but still struggling to his feet to pursue as Izuku is scooped up by the attacking man and carried away. Ingenium, failing to retrieve the child as he reaches for him; the grim acceptance falling over those young features as he lets his hand fall, burying his face in the attacker's shoulder as they disappear from view. Hifumi looks away, not wanting to watch this captured moment of despair again.
"As you may have already worked out, the child in that video was Midoriya Izuku, and the man who attacked Ingenium was who we now refer to as Stain. Back then, reports indicate that he was going by Stendhal. He mainly used his skills as a vigilante and mercenary, and Ingenium was the first hero he openly attacked. He was willing to very publicly do so for Izuku's sake, when he was still operating under the radar. Now that his modus operandi has changed, his obsession with his captive is even more dangerous, as he will target heroes more indiscriminately if he believes they pose any kind of risk to his ability to keep Izuku close and under his control."
There's a long pause as they watch the video repeat again, each person digesting the information that's been presented and all its implications. Death Arms looks like he's going to be sick, his skin tinged grey.
"I recognize that name," Backdraft murmurs, and though there's no way to read any expression on his face, his voice is tight and worried beneath its vague gurgle.
"You've run into him before?" Slugger asks, voice sharp. Backdraft shakes his head, the white fabric of his mask fluttering with the movement.
"No, but there was a fire a colleague of mine dealt with in Naruhata. Some of the victims mentioned a man going by that name, saying he was the one who started it. Turned out to be an illegal fighting ring. Nasty business, that."
"That tracks," Aizawa intones dryly, dark eyes narrowed as he turns to look toward Ingenium. The man nods.
"There were a number of illegal activities happening in Naruhata around that time." He grimaces, fingers tapping the grates on the front of his helmet. "I wouldn't be surprised if his vigilante aspirations led him to get involved in something like that."
"What I don't get," Slugger cuts in, voice a little too loud for the tense atmosphere, "is why this Midoriya kid didn't say anything. As Eraserhead has so aptly pointed out, there were multiple heroes present, so why didn't he just come to one of us for help?"
Hifumi braces himself for a biting remark to match the glare that Aizawa levels Slugger's way, but surprisingly, it doesn't come. Another voice chimes in first.
"Frankly speaking, he has most likely been conditioned to believe that seeking help is useless, or even dangerous for the people he might approach," Yagi Toshinori says, speaking up for the first time. Hifumi glances towards him and frowns; if Aizawa looks bad, then Yagi looks, impossibly, worse. It's like he hasn't slept for days, skin sallow and bruised, and eyes glassy with exhaustion. He's been unusually quiet up to this point, his sunken eyes never straying from the picture of Izuku and a troubled frown creasing his tired face. He looks up now, and despite having been consulting on Izuku's case for Detective Tsukauchi for years, Hifumi's not sure he's ever seen Yagi look so defeated before.
"How do you mean?" Backdraft asks, leaning forwards a bit. The metal on his arms clinks against the tabletop, far too loud for the tense atmosphere. He seems to think so as well, as he immediately pulls them back to tuck into his lap. His focus never strays from Yagi's face, though, studying him with the intensity of a man trying to coax out a secret. Yagi sighs, head bowing as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Naomasa," he murmurs, addressing the detective with the kind of familiarity that had Hifumi wondering what kind of relationship the two had when he'd first heard it. Detective Tsukauchi nods, understanding the request without words needed. Hifumi grimaces, glad it's hidden behind his mask, fairly sure he knows what they'll be hearing next.
The crackle of a poor quality recording fills the room. From across the table, Aizawa sinks deeper into his seat, expression carefully blank as his own voice rings out from the speakers.
"If you left, do you think you can make it somewhere safe?" The words are soft, yet there's an undeniable urgency to them. Though the recording is from only a few years ago, the difference in Aizawa's experience level is apparent. He can't imagine hearing the man he knows today speaking with that undercurrent of panic in even the direst of situations.
"I can't leave," a second voice answers. It is obviously that of a child, high pitched and equally soft, whispered like he's afraid of being caught. It's the only record they have of Izuku's voice, years out of date. "The doors are all locked."
Aizawa's shaking breath is audible, crackling through the speakers as he steels himself and asks, "Okay, and what about the windows?"
"He boarded over them."
Hifumi swallows around the lump in his throat, knowing what's coming. This is just a short clip of a longer conversation, but it's more than enough to get a point across. It's one thing to be told about a tragedy, after all, and another entirely to hear just how young and vulnerable the victim is first-hand.
"Can you tell me anything about the situation?" It feels wrong to hear Aizawa's quiet desperation, and Izuku's resigned sorrow. There's something unsettling—almost voyeuristic—about listening in on this moment of vulnerability.
"I…I shouldn't be talking to you," Izuku says, his voice soft and solemn. He would sound older than his ten years, if it weren't for the way his tiny voice trembles and cracks. "I just wanted to make sure that Kazuho was okay. And my…. My mom."
"I know. We're looking for you. You know that, right, kid? We are still looking for you."
There's a choked off sob, so small and sad and full of resignation. No child should sound like that. It breaks his heart, and he knows he's not the only one. Aizawa is staring off into the distance, brow furrowed, expression stormy. Beside him, Yagi shudders and almost seems to collapse in on himself, shrinking more and more with each miserable little noise.
"You should," a pause, a sniffle, like Izuku is trying to muffle the sound of his crying again. Hifumi often wonders if it's for his own benefit, or if he just didn't want the stranger on the phone to hear him crying and be sad for him. "—you should stop looking. I can't come home. You saw what happened to Ingenium. My mom could get hurt, too, and anybody else who tries to take me away. I'm not supposed to leave."
"That won't happen again. Nobody blames you for what happened." It was a kind lie. Hifumi remembers very well the kind of suspicion and vitriol the video had received back then. He will never understand how anyone could think that child, so obviously neglected and afraid, could have had anything to do with planning the attack. He wonders sometimes if Izuku ever saw those comments and discussions, the videos and forums; if he ever thinks of them now, when he cuts down heroes. "I can help you."
"I'm okay," Izuku whispers. He doesn't sound convincing. "He doesn't treat me bad. He's actually really nice when he's having a good day."
Hifumi thinks of tears falling over that gnarled scar, thinks of bruises stark enough to stand out even in the darkness and blood stained hands, and wonders what constitutes a bad day in Izuku's book. Aizawa's voice goes on, the crackle of his trembling breaths and the desperate words filling the air around them.
"But you still want to come home, don't you?"
There's a hesitation, a breath drawn sharp and scared, and each exhale trembles as the boy on the other side of the call tries not to cry. Then, in a voice so small and so desperate that it makes his heart ache, Izuku whispers, "Please."
Mount Lady makes a soft, pained sound. There's a little burst of static as the audio jumps, a sign of part of the discussion being cut. Aizawa's lips are pressed into a tight line as Izuku's shaking voice continues through the speakers. The ones who know what is coming brace themselves.
"I want to, I really, really do. But I don't know—"
A muffled voice cuts off whatever Izuku was going to say.
"What are you doing up?"
There's a sharp intake of air from Death Arms at the sound, like he's figured out what's about to happen despite the sleep-heavy fondness of that rough voice. Izuku stutters out a shaky excuse, and it's easy to hear the tight thread of fear in his voice. There's an unpleasant scraping sound as he presumably tries to hide the phone.
"I was just—"
"What are you hiding?" the voice demands, cutting off Izuku's fumbling attempts to come up with an excuse. It reminds Hifumi, uncomfortably, of the way his niece sounds when she's caught trying to sneak an extra serving of dessert. Any hint of curiosity is gone from Stain's voice, gentle exasperation replaced by something sharp and angry.
"I'm sorry," Izuku says, and even though his voice is muffled, it's easy to hear that he's fighting back tears. "I just wanted to check to make sure that Kazuho was okay. I didn't say anything wrong—"
There's a struggle then, and Stain is yelling, his voice suddenly painfully loud as it booms through the speakers. Izuku shouts back, the first hint of a fire they've seen from him, but it's not enough. Or maybe it's too much. Izuku crosses a line that Stain has drawn, and the words that follow are enough to make Hifumi's stomach churn.
"You lied to me! My mom was there and she wants me back!"
And then the sound of a fist meeting flesh, hard enough to be heard even through the recording. Izuku doesn't even cry at first, too stunned by the blow. He babbles out frantic apologies, growing more hysterical until he is sobbing. And then it gets worse, as the sound of more impacts filter through the room. Half of the newly gathered heroes wince, and Death Arms looks particularly grim. Hifumi remembers, suddenly, that the other hero has children of his own. Is he thinking of them now, hearing Izuku's sobs? Is he picturing his own children beaten and bloodied, begging for it to stop, crying that it hurts?
They sit together in horrified silence and listen as the man who had likely been Izuku's only source of human contact for years hurts him. They listen to him cry for him to stop, to let go. The sounds become more muffled. A door slams and the sobs cut off. Aizawa's ragged breaths are the only sound left, their panic amplified through the sound system. Seconds tick by before there's the sound of feet stomping against the wooden floor, and Aizawa holds his breath, waiting for something. Then, a crunch, and the lines goes dead without another word.
Silence falls as the recording ends. No one moves. No one even breathes.
Then, Aizawa leans forward, folding his hands on the table before him, covering the captured image of Izuku's face. His smile stretches wide and manic and full of menace, fury radiating off him in waves, grief and guilt catching in the lines on his face.
"We found the hideout where Stain was keeping him, but only after it had been abandoned. There was blood on the inside of the closet door, and covering the bathroom. So," his eyes flash red as his gaze sweeps across the gathered heroes once more. "Any more questions?"
As always, I have some notes for this chapter!
First, I was blown away by last chapter's response. You are all so kind, and made my birthday a very happy one. That said, I'm extremely excited to announce that AROM has a second beta! Platy has joined the team, so everyone say thank you Shae and Platy for making sure this chapter doesn't suck. (Insert a hundred hearts right here!) I'm really awful about answering reviews here on ff dot net, but I see your comments and they just make me so so happy and so grateful to have you along for the journey. It keeps me writing and coming back here to post the new chapters.
Second, I want to thank MomoWins1 over on ao3 for planting the idea of having Ectoplasm be one of Stain's victims in my head, which led to this chapter. It was originally planned to be from Aizawa's POV (I might still write that and post it separately if anyone is interested) but this POV was way more fun for me. Ectoplasm doesn't seem to have a canon name (I refuse to believe his parents named him Ekutopurazumu fresh out the womb) so I made one up. Coming up with his backstory and characterization was a fun little challenge I really enjoyed, so I hope you enjoyed it, too!
Finally, THERE IS FANART! The amazingly talented lunermoon1000 drew some really awesome (and funny) pictures of Izuku and posted them on tumblr under that same username and made my whole week so much better. Please go to check them out!
I know I'm posting earlier than usual, but I'm about to leave to visit family and it'll be like a 20 hour drive, and then I'll be driving back home on Monday, so you get this chapter today instead! If you want to leave reviews, I promise they will make a stressful weekend better. ^_^
Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I'll see you next month!