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Hawks wakes up but doesn't open his eyes. He's lying on the floor on his side, his limbs messily tangled. People surround him, their breathing close – crouching by his side, maybe. His body feels wrong though there are no major injuries, as far as he can tell. Light scratches, discomfort from the position, a general sense of unease.
"He's awake," a voice he's afraid to recognise rasps.
His memories are muddled but he's run out of time to gather information. His eyes open, and his stomach sinks when he identifies multiple members of the League of Villains: Dabi, who just spoke; Mr Compress, face hidden behind a balaclava though no mask; and Shigaraki himself, with the trademark hands attached to his face and arms.
"You doing okay, birdie?" Dabi asks, concern written all over his expression. "They got you good this time."
Then the villain extends a hand as if to help him up.
Maybe Hawks was hit on the head, even though the feeling of wrongness extends to his entire body. He remembers his new mission to infiltrate the League, of course. He made contact with Dabi, their main recruiter. After that, it gets muddier. They met a few times. Or only once? No, there are too many snatches of conversations that flashes by in his head, fuzzy. Sentence fragments that evaporate if he tries too hard to remember their context or details, abandoned buildings and warehouses and piers merging together.
He doesn't know why Dabi or any of these people would look at him like this, like they're worried. For now, he turns to lie on his back, wincing when unfortunately placed items dig into his vertebra. He's in some kind of office building, beside a line of desks covered in a thick layer of dust. Weak rays of light barely make it through the cobwebs on the grimy windows.
Sitting up takes effort. Dabi's friendly (?) hand patiently waits for him to be ready to grab it though, so Hawks does and pulls himself up with Dabi's help.
Hopefully his memory returns soon. For now, he can only gather information.
"What happened?" he asks, still sitting on the ground.
"The Commission didn't take too well to your resignation," Dabi says. Hawks tries not to freeze, like this is all expected. "But we were able to get the guys they sent after you before they did too much damage. I think. You sure you're okay? Are you injured?"
Dabi's hand lingers on his and Hawks uses the question as an opportunity to pat himself down and look for more injuries. He doesn't find any but feels absolutely awful all over, out of shape, out of breath, off in a way he can't explain.
"I don't think so," he finally replies, then grins and takes in their setting.
There's not much else to the room. Maybe a dilapidated office from yore. If he was running away from someone, how did he end up cornered in an office building? There are no traces of battle. If the League carried him here, why leave him like this in the middle of the room, lying on his side? Alarm bells are going off in his head but he can't link them to anything concrete, only an ever-growing sense of unease.
He can imagine cutting himself off from the Commission as part of a larger plan to earn the League's trust, especially if he'd gotten as far as meeting Shigaraki. If only he could fucking remember.
"Looks like I owe you one," he says. "How did you find me?"
"Birdie," Dabi says with a frown, "we were with you every step of the way. You're one of us, now."
Mr Compress hums thoughtfully, hand on his chin, looking troubled. "I heard rumours over the years that the Commission kept staff with mind altering quirks on payroll. It always seemed a bit far-fetched."
"They raised Hawks since he was a kid," Shigaraki noted, nodding toward the hero. "Keeping around people with good debuff quirks seems minor in comparison. Of course they fucking would."
Hawks shared that with them? That is way more than he ever intended to. This is strange. He can't fault anyone's reaction though. Everything else seems to be happening logically. He just needs to run along with it until he feels more like himself again.
"Can you stand?" Dabi asks him.
"Yeah," Hawks replies, already working on it. "Let's get out of here before someone else finds us."
His scrambled memory does point to a quirk, but this could be a game the League is playing with him. This is fine as long as he can gain something out of the situation. If he's one of them now, then he should have access to new information. This could be perfect.
The door bursts open and Hawks has a sharpened primary in hand before he recognises Twice.
"Guys are you done turning him already? Amazing! Hi Hawks! You're all so slow!"
Turning him... Hawks frowns but Dabi's palm is already on his shoulder, blazing with blue fire that burns through his shoulder and cheek. Hawks leaps back although the searing pain is already fading, abnormally early.
"Damn it," Dabi drawls. "I was sure we got him this time."
It's like hearing him underwater, distorted. Frozen in horror, Hawks stares at the spot where Dabi burnt him, how it's turning brown. Melting.
He's a clone. Twice made a clone of him.
That explains the unease in his own body. No one is paying attention to him anymore but it doesn't matter, his body is all mud now, feathers included, out of his control, he's melting, his consciousness is fading. Right until the end, the sound of Dabi's voice accompanies him, self-satisfied. Chilling to the bone.
"We've nearly got the script ready, though."