Chapter Text
Psychics were emotional creatures. Their own power stemmed from the ebb and flow of life energy generated through experiencing emotions. Those emotions stimulated the soul and the powers of a psychic grew and changed with that emotional flux. This was how psychics learned and grew. This was how most psychic were made: by experiencing extreme mental stress or trauma, which tempered their will into a latent force they could manipulate through thought alone.
Most psychics were not Mob.
Mob—whose potential was obvious at birth—subconsciously feared his own power and, as such, did not have unfiltered access to his vast sea of psychic energy. He hadn't since he was nine years old, after an accident where he hurt his little brother. He had capped his own psychic powers to prevent another accident, laying a barrier across the top to prevent overflow.
When his emotions were at an all time high, however, the barrier he constructed between his conscious and subconscious resonated like a drumskin and his power sounded in harmony with his will.
(And when his consciousness faded while he was under extreme duress, his subconscious tore forward and continued on, mindlessly and without any kind of care for bystanders or collateral damage between him and his goal.)
Sometimes, when the two halves of Mob—his conscious self and his subconscious powers—agreed with each other, his output was multiplied sevenfold, if not more. Whatever they collectively decided was What Was Happening, would happen. The world would bend to their will. They would be unstoppable.
After a long period recovering from a cold, days after the fight against Hanazawa Teruki, Mob consciously spoke something into being. Something his subconscious latched on to and began to nurture, slowly but surely. That rare alignment of desires between the two halves of Mob was a small seed of something that grew with each resonant utterance; each acknowledgement of this deep-seated self-loathing.
He looked his shishou in the face, as serious as he could be, and explained his plight.
"I don't want these powers. They're too much."
(8%)
He was in the alleyway, surrounded by thugs, standing upright but unconscious. Once again, he had failed to keep his cool. Once again, his brother was hurt. It was all his fault. All of this was his fault. The darkness that swallowed the last of Mob's consciousness wasn't kind, but it was inevitable and familiar.
(12%)
After waking up, still aching, with Hanazawa and Dimple nearby, Mob swallowed bile and latched to any hope offered to him. Ritsu wasn't dead. They wouldn't kill him. They could save him. Hanazawa had a plan and he was smart. It would all be okay. He just had to hope.
(23%)
As he stood in front of the Seventh Division headquarters after dispatching the man with the whips, Mob's hands were cold and damp. He didn't like how easy it had been to render someone unconscious. He didn't like how easy it was to not care about someone's well-being.
(41%)
Body after body slammed into walls and floors and ceilings. He needed to find Ritsu. He needed to save Ritsu. If he found Ritsu it would all be okay. It would be worth it. He could absolve himself of this guilt if only to find Ritsu. This was self-defense.
(55%)
He wiped snot off his chin and scrubbed salt from his cheeks. He hated fighting and he hated hitting women, even if they told him to. He hated this so much. It wasn't fair.
(74%)
Ritsu's body was on the floor. Ritsu was laying on the floor. Ritsu was hurt. Ritsu was hurt. Ritsu was hurt. RITSU WAS HURT.
(99%)
He was nine again and Ritsu was eight. He woke up to see Ritsu bleeding on the ground in the park. He was nine and Reigen was bleeding on the ground in his office. He was fourteen and Hanazawa was bleeding on the ground near Black Mid. His parents. Tsubomi. There was blood everywhere. What had he done?! What had he done?! What had he done?! WHAT HAD HE DONE?!
(99%)
Ritsu looked like he was going to puke, like he was grateful and horrified in equal amounts, but there wasn't time. They needed to escape. They needed to leave. No matter how nice the silence in this cursed room felt. No matter how much Mob wanted to stay there. They had to leave, so his wants could wait.
(99%)
There was a battle raging and he needed to help.
(100%)
"I'm telling you: don't do it!" All Mob could see was Reigen looking him in the eye. He was sweaty and panting and trying his damndest to monopolize his field of view. Despite how well he had held himself together thus far, Mob's emotions climbed to a fever pitch, egged on by Hanazawa and Ritsu begging him to help. Still, Reigen demanded Mob's full attention as he delivered some words of wisdom. "When things go south, it's okay to run away and save yourself!"
(243%)
There. Coalescence in that one instant. The tipping point. Every part of Mob was in agreement.
(572%)
Shishou was going to take care of this. Shishou would make all of this go away.
(761%)
Shishou could have his powers.
(858%)
Mob didn't want them anyway.
(1000% Gratitude)