Chapter Text
The night air chills the body but sharpens the mind. It’s sharp, a knife edge glinting under neon lights, puddles glowing across concrete and asphalt.
Scattered stars speckle above the smog of city life. They populate the streets underneath, too.
Yet, this late, it is the rare Limelight on duty. Other than, perhaps, in their office or agency filling out paperwork or undergoing an operation. With an over saturation of heroes, there’s leniency to be had. Just as there’s an annoyance to be found, when one does not wish to be found.
A rush of displaced air. A blur around brickwork and over warehouse scaffolding.
Heroes. That’s right. There are heroes about.
When the Limelight fades away, the Underground comes to play.
And while Underground heroes may, as a general rule, be more skilled in the night, in subterfuge, tracking, and investigation, there is also less of them. They are not easier to avoid, technically. But the numbers simply aren’t enough for everything.
Good. She doesn’t want to be found.
Cold, brushing against her nape.
A spectered whisper urging, pushing-
Sa… hers…
At the mouth of a dark alley, a familiar man in his early 30s barely even shouts before a would-be mugger slumps unconscious against the opposing brick wall. A delayed rush of forcibly displaced air is next.
The potential victim, now saved, is not saved from falling backwards and landing on his ass.
“Ow…” He winces and forces himself to look up, the flickering streetlight glinting across his oddly trapezoid-shaped glass and dark blue hair. An involuntary groan forces itself from his throat. “…not you again.”
The you in question is a dark-clad figure. A dark blue — space blue, if deeper, and notably darker than the would-be mugged man’s hair — hooded jacket atop dark gray and black pants, with pouches, a sheath for a combat knife, and a gas mask hooked by a carabiner to her belt. Boots and gloves of the duo combinations of these colors cover hands and feet, and a half balaclava mask and ski goggles hide their face, leaving semi-spiky silver hair in a ponytail exposed.
The presumably female figure says nothing.
But the man rightfully feels judged.
“Don’t judge me!”
The figure stares at him. At least, he thinks she’s staring at him.
“I don’t do this on purpose you know! Do you think I like getting mugged?” A pause, in which no response is received. “I don’t. I don’t! Why are you looking at me like that? I am the victim here!”
Nothing.
Then, in a blur, the man finds himself on his feet, her sense of vertigo slamming down on his stomach. He hunches over, hands on his knees, and dry heaves.
“I deserved that.” He admits after a moment.
The only answer Erich receives is another burst of displaced wind. When he straightens up, his savior — Ha! More like devil, damn law breaker… not that I’m ungrateful — is gone.
Erich lets out a shaky breath, then adjusts his glasses like an anime protagonist.
“…I’d better get home.”
Sav…
An ice-cold curse trickling down the spine, jolting the body to action without thought. The remnant of grief crystallized, as even the hurt is worth remembering forever.
...thers…
You could hardly call her a hero.
She doesn’t have a hero name. She never went to a hero school. Few people ever see her, and almost no one knows who she is.
This is completely by design.
So why…
…is someone stalking me?
Stalking is such a strong word for what is actually happening here, but given that she spends her free time somewhat unwillingly as a nameless, unknown vigilante, caution is warranted.
Though it is also unexpected. The “unknown” part is pretty important.
And if we’re being honest, it’s actually just an attempt at stalking, or following, or whatever.
She’s still “costumed” as it were, and curiosity has kept her from leaving too quickly. There’s minimal risk involved, and her best option would actually be to deal with this now before nit potentially gets out of hand.
Nosy reporters are the worst. She’d like to keep her existence limited to online forums at most, thank you very much.
But whoever’s following her never got the memo.
An abrupt stop somewhere in the back alleys between dilapidated storefronts and dilapidated warehouses starts her plan, and a short pause, before very deliberately spreading the fingers of one gloved hand and pressing the five of them against her side… are steps 2 and 3.
Step 4 is when she activates her quirk and disappears from her stalker’s sight, and the quiet gasp she hear’s from said stalked is just an insult, to be frank.
I’d make a joke about working above your paygrade, but I doubt there’s any meaningful or consistent pay involved here.
She answers her own question in rapid, pun intended, fashion.
Step 5: Tanya decelerates to land softly behind her stalker and accelerates a chop at the back of their neck, knocking them out instantly.
Right after, she blinks, not quite sure what she’s seeing.
…it’s just some girl…?
A girl, maybe around her same height, with longer blonde-
Save…
“Shut up.” Tanya mutters, shaking her head.
She shoves her ski goggles up onto her forehead, silver bangs and strands swept back and revealing eyes of a brilliant, nostalgic teal. Then, after glancing left and right down the grungy back alley, she crouches next to the unconscious stalker girl.
Why?
A question for both the girl and her own self. Why? Why not?
There’s no great sense of justice that calls Tanya to action. You could hardly call what she does action at all. It’s not like she wants to be out here either. Not really.
If anything, she’d much rather live a regular life. Go to work, go to the bar with coworkers, enjoy hobbies, climb the corporate ladder… these are reasonable expectations for a fulfilling, boring lifestyle. A peaceful lifestyle.
…others…
I get it already.
But a normal life was denied to her a long time ago. Despite the detriment to her lifestyle and ideals, she has a promise to keep.
Tanya grabs a set of handcuffs from her belt and handcuffs the former stalker turned temporary ragdoll. Next, a quick bit of quirk use has the unknown girl sitting on the concrete, propped up against one of the alley’s walls. A second later, and Tanya is reading the maybe-not-stalker’s student ID.
“Lotte, huh?” Muttering again, Tanya looks up from the ID to the girl in question. “What could you possibly…?”
As if responding, the handcuffed Lotte begins to stir. Tanya reaches up and pulls her ski goggles back down, just to be safe.
…god, I’m tired.
-Make It Out Alive-
Character | Tanya
Quirk | Shift
Blood Type | B+
Age | 22
Likes | Early morning walks, chilly nighttime air, VNs, free food
Dislikes | Overtime, organized religion, villains, nosy people
Opinion of All Might | “Obnoxiously vibrant, but i can't dislike him. He definitely earned his title.”