Chapter Text
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It’s so dark. Night during the day, night during the night, night eternal, night unending. Tired. Tired. Tired. There is no light to wake, so stay in a half slumber, never waking, never sleeping, just tired, tired, tiiiiiiii –
There is noise, every so often, that is able to penetrate through the thick walls of the storage closet, making the hulking mass of shadow within the room shift and shudder, pulses and impulses and attempts at logic that ultimately end up fizzing into nothing, unable to be sustained in their journey for a central idea on so little energy. There is no hope, here, no light at the end of the tunnel to jolt old and forgotten joints back into life, only the endless shadow and the vague half-aware, half-asleep analysis subsisting on energy slowly depleting into exhaustion. There is no perpetual motion machine, no great saviour of the world’s problems or great revelation of divine inspiration.
And yet, there is nothing else to do but wait here.
There is yelling now, vibrating through the walls, which had been designed to keep as much sound as possible in but was unfortunately not as effective (though by no means in effective) at keeping it out. A reverberation, too, going through the floor now and snaking its way ever closer as the thudding of footsteps grows louder, louder, and the shadows are silent otherwise, still as the noise grows from a quiet whisper to a dull murmur.
And there is light.
A small rectangle, a sliver, as the door is opened and something new – small, oddly shaped, gangly limbs and flailing joints, a new failed project no doubt – is shoved through into the inventor’s closet, and the shadows begin to buzz from it, finally wakened more than hazy awareness and barely-lucid connections.
The light is gone, the door’s slam muffled by well-oiled hinges and the walls that do not let sound escape. But the shadows still buzz, and oh, that new addition, though it too now blends into the darkness and the buzz, it’s warm, so warm, just like the light, and suddenly all those previously frayed threads of consciousness have something to congeal to.
The buzzing turns to screeching as the shadows grow ever darker, night now awake and alive and centred, complete, and stars begin to burn within the void.
Nedzu’s voice is clear, but any of the heroes worth their salt in the room could see the way his nose twitched, his ears drew back and his smile – well, it was the most genuine they’d seen from him, and given humans were the only known species to draw their mouths back into that particular shape to express happiness… it was worrying. Aizawa sat to his right, and behind them, a newspaper headline projected onto the wall in all harsh lines and black and white contrast.
“The Slime Villain Incident, heretofore referred to as AID-9, has actually been an incredibly fortuitous occurrence in this circumstance, as All Might’s involvement in the incident immediately made it to main headlines everywhere.” Nedzu paces across the desk, restlessness in every step, as he continues the explanation that had otherwise taken the better part of an hour thus far, such was its severity. “This means that AID-9’s news coverage eclipsed this particular scandal so totally that drastic action need not be taken in this case. However, that does not mean we have escaped all consequences. As such, today I will be outlining the changes in plans for next year’s curriculum, staff, and student policy. Chronicle, if you would take the floor.”
One man – the only stranger in the room, a foreigner, stiff in his posture and a tight smile on his face – stands from his seat at the opposite end of the circle of desks. “Of course, Principal Nedzu. I’d be honoured.”
The room, shadowed but for the projection on the wall, buzzes in anticipation.