Chapter Text
Sir Nighteye laid in his bed. His eyes twitching under the pale moonlight, sweat trailing down his forehead. With a sudden gasp, he wakes up. Tongue dried and hands crawling at his throat as if he hadn’t taken a sip of water in a week. Panting, he shoots out of the bed and turns on the light of his bedroom.
He quickly makes his way to a desk, where random pieces of loose paper and files lay, he scrambles for a pen and luckily finds one hiding inside a manila folder, he snatches it and begins to scribble into one of the loose papers. His hand is moving too rapidly for his brain to genuinely understand what he’s writing. He’s not paying attention to the paper or the pen or the way his hand is shaking, instead, his mind is replaying everything he saw on his dream, a mashup of pictures moving to a quickness that resembled a cheetah running. Grey skies, lonely streets with red- no, blood splattered on the ground, several well-known buildings being shut down. He wished he saw chaos, maybe it would've been better than the desolate and empty place that was once his city.
It wasn’t a dream, he thought, it was a nightmare.
His hand stops and he pulls back, finally regaining focus, he reads over the words and drawings he had just finished mere seconds ago.
The images replayed once again. A deserted city and worn down buildings, graffiti all over the walls. Messages and declarations of war, symbols that pointed to an oppressive system.
He didn’t know if it was the beginning or the aftermath. But he was terrified either way. Sir Nighteye saw a New Regime, no monarchy or democracy, just a totalitarian society.
He stepped back and sat on his bead, head hung and body slouched. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t find a way to make sense of this. This wasn’t part of his quirk, at all. Was it possible that it was just a nightmare? But it felt so real. He got goosebumps just thinking about it. Or maybe it was actually part of his quirk, like a new feature per se, but why now? Of all times…
He cradled his head in his hands. It didn’t make any sense. But he felt it, deep in guts it made him want to throw up. It felt just like his quirk, but it couldn’t be. He tried convincing himself it was just a bad dream. And god, he tried. The mere thought of sitting with this information made him nauseous, and it was just so wrong. His subconscious was blaring alarms, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen. Just a nightmare, just a nightmare.
“A-ahh!” He gripped his head harder, it was fucking pounding.
He stood up and made his way to the kitchen where he pulled out a drawer and took out a couple of pills, taking a glass of water he dawned the whole thing. He just hoped it would do the trick.
The dark haired male returned to his bed and laid down. He would forget about this and go back to normal. For the first time since he woke up, he turned to his nightstand and looked at the clock, 2:15 am. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
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Sir Nighteye awoke with his heart in his throat one hour later. His eyes stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. The sheets were a crumpled mess, unflexing his fingers hurt, he could only guess it was because of tight grip he must’ve had in his sleep.
Just a nightmare.
He let out a low grunt, his head. It was pounding again. Something in the back of his brain, of his consciousness, kept screaming at him. He rubbed his hands against his temples, he visualized as a sound so high pitched he could barely register it. But it was there, like the fly that refused to away even though the window was open. A pest. And the only way to make it leave was to acknowledge it. Those nightmares that he kept having. As crazy as it sounded, they had to mean something. But he lived in a crazy world were once people were relatively normal, and now the unthinkable was possible. Superpowers had appeared out of nowhere, like magic. So maybe, this was something the universe wanted him to see. He remembers years ago, how he read an article of people having psychic abilities rather similar to his own back in the days of pre-quirks. It wasn’t impossible then. People were able to reach out and tap into their subconscious. They didn’t have quirks, but they had intuition, and they had magic.
Sir Night eye sat on his bed cross-legged; he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His breathing was slow and steady while he tried to clear his mind, he focused on trying to find the high-pitched sound he heard earlier. So high it was barely audible.
Let me listen.
The sound started getting closer, like a butterfly fluttering around his head. He screwed his eyes shut and tilted his head slightly.
Closer.
The butterfly now stood in front of him. Fluttering its wings in front of his face. He tried to reach but to no avail, an invisible barrier was between them.
Guide me.
The butterfly continued fluttering, but it was all in slow motion now. He could count each of the times it flapped its wings.
Suddenly the images returned and bombarded his mind.
The desolate city. 1.
Blood littering the streets. 3.
The worn down buildings. 5.
Graffiti adorning the walls. 7.
Masked people hiding in the dark. 10.
Bodies in the ground. 13.
Quirkless…15.
His breath became agitated.
Heroes, quirkless heroes. 17.
17 flaps.