Chapter Text
"I should've known you bastards were no g-" The man falls down the concrete with a lifeless thump. Crimson liquid gushed from his throat like an out of control faucet, filling the air with an unmistakable stench of copper and more importantly, staining his assailant's newly polished pair of black shoes. Izuku clicks his tongue in mild annoyance.
He strides closer to the remaining man at the corner of the alley, almost like a predator closing in on his prey. The man trembles like a leaf, pale as a ghost when the blade embedded itself onto the wall behind him, only a hair's width from his neck. Izuku waves a semi-wrinkled photo in front of the man.
"Where is he?" The freckled man asks. His inquiry falls on deaf ears yet the terrified man understands well what he means.
"He-he's heading toward the highway! Silver Toyota v-vios, you can't miss it!" Izuku dislodged the knife right after hearing the man's shaky words, swiftly making it his last with a quick, precise movement. He slumps down the wall, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
Izuku runs after the said vehicle with no time to spare. Windswept hair obscures his vision as he jumped and sprinted across rooftops. A suspicious car suddenly hits the accelerator and speeds up, Izuku jumps. The roof of the vehicle dents upon his landing, his body almost thrown off as the car swerves in an attempt to shake off his attacker, its driver evidently in panic as a knife protrudes from above, barely missing his head.
The vehicle stops abruptly. The man, aware of his pursuer, uses his invisibility quirk momentarily to flee into an apartment building in hopes of losing the dark-haired killer hot on his tracks. Glass shatters everywhere as the panic-stricken man slides into a random room and hides under the bed. He holds his breath like a lifeline, a second later he disappears from sight.
Ten seconds pass, twenty, then thirty. When there were no signs of his pursuer's bloodied black shoes, the man's breathing returns to normal and he reappears and a sigh of relief escapes his mouth. He was safe.
Izuku pulls out his foot from underneath the bed, effectively flipping the bed over and fishing the man out front his hiding spot. A scream threatens to spill from the mans throat, a burning fear successfully snuffing all remnants of his solace, countered by a firm kick to his face, the blood from his henchmen mixing with his own in his mouth.
The man attempts to fight back, catching himself before doubling over the coffee table near his feet and throws and poorly aimed punch at Izuku. The other dodges the attack with ease and sends a foot to his stomach. He lands on the wrecked dining set wheezing in pain, this time unable to stand.
Izuku wipes sweat from his brow, revealing burning, determined eyes, drilling holes into the man’s own, not knowing that it was the last thing he'll ever see.
“One less nuisance to the league” Izuku smiles to himself in relief while running a gloved hand through his tousled black-colored hair.
“And one less evil in this society” he mentally adds.
He turned to the broken window, bloodstained curtains fluttering in the wind. Izuku heaves a lungful of oxygen. The cold evening air fills his mind, calming his nerves.
It has been a while since he was sent out to do his job. The tasks assigned to him were never easy, and only sent him out when absolutely necessary but in the end it was rewarding in many ways, at least to him. It felt great to breathe the outside air again, it felt real compared to the musky, stagnant air reeking of alcohol and despair back in the hideout. Izuku’s eyes were momentarily blinded by the swirl of lights the busy nightlife offered from the view of the shattered apartment window. His eyes were so drunk with color he forgot about the corpse laying in his own blood, he almost forgot that he was Izuku Midoriya, a person who has been missing for six years and a person who works for a criminal syndicate. Izuku Midoriya who was once a juvenile, and happy kid, full of unrealistic hopes and dreams.
Time stops around him and for a moment he was four again, a time when he had the all the color in the world right before his eyes. Where his emerald tinted eyes were lustrous and bursting with life, where his mother beamed at him with her pearly whites, a time when he could still look into Kacchan's ruby eyes without fear creeping into every corner of his soul.
He doesn’t notice the door creak behind him.
Confused red meets lackluster green. He had all the color in his life. And then there were none.