Chapter Text
Killer for hire
Soldier of fortune
Gotta walk through fire for what’ s important
And a warrior’s blood through your veins is coursing
Killer for hire
Soldier of fortune
It’s dark outside. The meagre light from the moon barely creeps in through Todoroki Shouto’s open window, battling the soft yellow glow of the lamp beside the bed where he sits - phone in hand - hesitating over a message. He’s written and re-written the words several times already, trying to figure out the best approach for this initial contact.
S: I’ve been told this is the contact number for Midoriya.
It takes a few more long moments of deliberation before he finally works up the courage to send it, having to press his ice-cold thumb a little longer against the screen so it will register the chill touch of his right hand. It’s only a handful of seconds more before he’s provided with an answer.
M: It’s one of them.
He waits for a moment, staring patiently at the screen - before he realises person on the other end expects him to continue. He fires back a quickly typed response.
S: I have a request.
It’s only after he’s pressed send that he frowns. ‘Request’ sounds too informal. Personal, almost. He isn’t asking for a favour; he’s hiring a professional. Better to clarify that, before his quarry misinterprets his intentions and he’s forced to track down some other means of contacting him.
S: A job, I mean.
There, that’s better. He blinks at his phone, features passive but jaw tense, awaiting the response.
M: Details?
Straight to the point, then. He can work with that.
Shouto takes a slow breath before he types out the reply - stares at it on his screen, blinking cursor flashing at the end of the short sentence. Four simple words. There’s no going back, after this. This is the point he’s been working towards for weeks. Hunting down someone capable, someone willing to carry out the task he needs doing - not only in discovering the name Midoriya, buried in the depths of shady forum posts on dangerous websites, but tracking down a viable number for him after several disastrous attempts, working himself up mentally to this point. This message.
He hits send.
S: I want Endeavor dead.
A small notification at the bottom of the screen tells him Midoriya is typing - but it vanishes after a moment.
He blinks at the screen. And waits.
And waits.
A minute passes. His phone screen dims, and he taps it impatiently to make it brighten again. Another minute, and it dims again. This time, he doesn’t react, and after a few seconds more, it goes black, showing him nothing more than the reflection of his own face. The Shouto staring back at him looks worried.
What does this mean? Is this Midoriya declining the job? Deciding it’s too difficult, too challenging to take down the Number One Hero? Would he not even say? Or worse, is he putting the wheels in motion already? Shouto doesn’t know what timescales assassinations work on - is there a villain after Endeavor now, from just the single message? Before they’ve even negotiated terms?
For a full five minutes, he stews in his building anxiety, gazing at his reflection in the screen like it can offer him any answers. It only shares in his unease, mismatched eyes staring back from beneath brows which are creased in worry.
He jerks in surprise when finally - finally - his phone buzzes again, and the screen lights up (banishing his nervous reflection) to inform him that he has one new message notification.
He unlocks the device eagerly, thumbs open the message; then stares in confusion at the one-word answer.
M: Interesting.
Anger stirs to life in his stomach. This is the answer he’s been stewing over for the past five minutes? Interesting? What’s that supposed to mean? What could be so interesting about his request? From what he’s seen online - from what he researched and checked and double checked - it’s perfectly common for Midoriya to get appeals to kill heroes; why should his be any different?
He pretends his fingers aren’t shaking slightly as he taps out a response.
S: It’s not that unusual to want to take out the Number One Hero.
Something feels wrong, here. As quickly as it had come, the anger fades back to nervousness, and he’s left with the distinct impression that he’s in over his head - this is a powerful, dangerous villain who has killed a lot of heroes, who’s spoken about in hushed tones even between other villains. Who’s to say he isn’t just toying with him?
The next two texts come in quick succession, and they do precisely nothing to abate his nerves.
M: No.
M: Though it’s unusual to hire an assassin using your personal mobile number.
Shouto feels his blood go cold. His phone drops from numb fingers into his lap, and he doesn’t even bother to pick it up before his head swivels towards the window of his room. He knows. Midoriya knows, in just a few short minutes he’s seized upon Shouto’s stupid mistake - of course using his own phone was idiotic, why had he not thought of that, he’s trying to plan a murder - and tracked him down, stripped away whatever protection he’d thought he was offered by anonymity.
He suddenly feels horribly exposed. Is he being watched?
He stands - barely aware of the clunk of his phone sliding to the floor - and strides to the window on shaky legs. Stares out onto the dark path below, the rolling driveway and the span of the grounds. Paranoia prickles at the base of his neck. He twists the blinds shut, blocking out the weak trickle of moonlight - then for good measure, moves to the door of his bedroom and slides it shut, too.
Only then does he return to his phone - thankfully undamaged - and re-reads the message.
He takes a steadying breath. Works to calm the beat of his heart, to centre himself. So Midoriya knows who he is, now. That doesn’t change anything. He doubts the villain will care either way, if he’s honest - a task is a task, isn’t it? What does it matter who requests it?
After a few more deep breaths, he’s recovered himself enough to send his reply.
S: Will you take the job or not?
This time, thankfully, Midoriya doesn’t keep him waiting.
M: It’s a big job. It won’t be cheap.
Shouto feels a flicker of disgust. So that’s it.
S: If you know who I am, you know I can pay whatever you ask.
M: I’m not talking about money.
He blinks. Stares at the phone. That sense of unease falls over him again like a shadow, discomfort crawling up his spine. What could this villain possibly need from him, if not money?
S: What do you want?
He holds his breath while he waits for for reply, which appears only a moment later.
M: Information.
He exhales. Information. That… isn’t entirely unexpected. From what he’s managed to find out about Midoriya, he has a lucrative trade in intelligence, and it makes sense that - if he’s not seeking money - he wants something he can sell for a higher price.
The problem is, Shouto doesn’t know what he can possibly offer. He’s barely a UA graduate - for whatever that’s worth - and he isn’t even signed with an agency. He doesn’t have access to any intelligence databases, or actual useable data on heroes. Names and addresses of his father’s colleagues, maybe, but he hardly thinks that’s the sort of thing that Midoriya would need his assistance with.
S: What information?
It’s only a beat before he gets his answer.
M: Tell me why.
He stops. Stares at the response, then skims back through the rest of their conversation to see if there’s something he’s missed.
But there’s no mistaking what Midoriya is asking for. Even if he can’t quite fathom why he wants to know.
S: That’s it?
M: That’s it.
So he does.
It might have been traumatic, to someone else, but to Shouto it’s almost cathartic to type it all out. To methodically list off the terrible, awful deeds of the Number One Hero, all the reasons he deserves to die; the many, many straws on a back which has long since broken, crushing weight suffocating the innocent remaining members of his family beneath it. He types message after message, hitting the character limit and pushing send mid-sentence only to continue on the following text. By the time he’s done, Midoriya’s last message has been pushed up off the top of the screen, leaving only the wall of his own words.
He wonders, once he’s done, if it should hurt him more than it does to see it written down like that. He mostly just feels numb.
He doesn’t realise the screen has gone dark again until the phone buzzes in his hands, and he blinks back to reality, thumbing it open to see the latest message from Midoriya.
M: I think we should meet.
Shouto stares at it.
S: You don’t meet people.
Because he doesn’t. In all he’s seen about this villain, all the things he’s read, he sticks to the shadows. He doesn’t make a habit of meeting his clients. Even the heroes that have died through his contracts have either disappeared and turned up dead with no witnesses, or been attacked by other villains under Midoriya’s command. That’s part of the appeal; there doesn’t have to be any face-to-face contact, less chance of recognition or incrimination.
M: I don’t usually communicate via unencrypted text, either.
Shouto blanches. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder that he started this - he’s the one that approached Midoriya in this way, sought him out in such an amateurish manner and exposed his identity from the outset. This isn’t exactly a usual transaction, from the villain’s perspective.
And besides that, he’s agreeing to do this for Shouto’s story alone. Technically, he’s already made his payment.
S: Aren’t you worried that I’m lying to trap you?
Part of him is hoping that will be enough to make Midoriya change his mind, but he doubts it will work.
M: No.
Comes the immediate response. Then;
M: I believe you.
Shouto stares at the phone for a moment. A frown pulls at his brows. It’s too certain - not a threat, like he might have expected, or a cocky certainty in his own abilities if Shouto tried to outplay him - just belief.
He isn’t sure what to do with that.
S: Why?
M: I have my reasons.
He’s fairly certain he isn’t going to get a better answer than that. At least, not over text.
Which only leaves him with one option, doesn’t it?
S: Where?
M: You pick the place. I’ll find you.
It’s probably smart. Midoriya’s already pointed out that this isn’t exactly the most secure method of communication - but it still sets an uncomfortable itch under his skin to know that he’s able to find him.
But he’s not about to admit to that.
S: Tomorrow, 2pm.
M: Done.