Chapter Text
Life's paths are like a hallway with many doors. For the fortunate, all doors are clearly visible and easy to open. For others, some doors are difficult to budge or barred off completely. Some doors are wallpapered over, disguised and can’t be seen at all. And then there are the unfortunate souls who walk into that dark hallway and only see one door.
Not all fates are created equal. And with so many doors closed to them, villains can’t be saved. Or rather, not by heroes who can’t understand them.
Hawks wasn’t able to convince Twice to surrender. Eraserhead and Present Mic couldn’t bring their friend Orboro back. Ochaco couldn’t save Toga after the villainess sacrificed her life. And Deku, while able to reach Tenko’s spirit, could only watch as Tomura’s body crumbled away. Tomura’s fate had already been sealed from the start by an evil man. Ultimately, the heroes couldn’t fully understand and failed to open the doors for villains before it became too late.
But if fate could be rewritten, perhaps the villains could be saved... by a fellow villain. For only a fellow villain can fully understand other villains.
And perhaps, an ex-villain can help the heroes too...
***
(Thirty-six years ago, in a secluded warehouse by the oceanside)
Nana Shimura was dead, and Yagi Tonshinori had just fled to the USA. Meanwhile in Japan, quirks had become the unspoken currency of the rich and powerful. Eager to curry favors with All For One, the elite gave little thought to the people that were attached to the quirks. And if they got a little entertainment out of it… well, that was just a bonus for their ever-expansive purses
“Aaaaarrrgh!!!” The bloodied fighter screamed. He stumbled backwards in the ring, eyes wide with pain and fear. His drill powered horns were bent askew and had long run out of fuel, no longer able to spin.
Deafening cheers and jeers reverberated throughout the building. The air reeked with the putrid smells of booze, cigarettes, sweat, and blood.
In the opposite corner, a large boar-man bellowed, foamy spittle spraying from his mouth. Light glistened off sharp tusks. The boar-man lowered his head, wielding ivory weapons that aimed to gore, and charged! The drill-horn screamed as he leapt out of the way. CLANG! Came the thunderous crash as toothy enamel met metal. The drill-horn turned to flee, but a hairy, calloused hand seized one of his horns. His head was yanked backwards.
The blood-thirsty crowd roared in response.
The drill-horn grasped at the fingers on his horns, but he was far outmatched by the boar-man’s feral strength. The boar-man drew up his other hand, seizing the drill horn’s neck, and with a frenzied bellow of rage, here hefted, launching the hapless drill-horn over the metal rails.
The defeated fighter let out one final scream of terror before his body slammed into the concrete floor with a bone-shattering thud.
The final bell rung.
The crowd exploded with simultaneous cheers and groans. Betting stubs flew up, scattering in the air.
The illegally-held underground cage match had ended. The spectators here were a rough-looking, varied bunch. Some were the poor who had bet their meager funds on poorly-placed hope, and others were gang members taking gleefully advantage of that very hope. There were a handful of foolish, young people who had came seeking the thrills of forbidden gambling and blood sport. Most were here for a brief, albeit bloody, distraction from their everyday troubles. A distraction from a world where hard work only earned them one more day of survival.
But in the upper echelons of the warehouse, the social caste was the clear opposite.
Stoic, intimidating bouncers guard all of the staircases. Instead of beer and dusty sweat, the air reeked of cologne, cigars, overpriced alcohol, and a snobbish aura that only the ridiculously wealthy could emit. The well-dressed look on below, no hint of empathy in their eyes as the drill-horn fighter writhed on the dirty, beer-stained concrete. They watched as the attendants quickly pushed through the crowd to collect the fallen fighter.
“The one with the drill-horns quirk didn’t last long, did he?”
“Dammit!” A well dressed, young man tore up his betting stub.
“Told you to test him first.” Teased an older woman in heavy make-up.
“So much for being worth all those yen. Feeling buyers remorse yet?” A stout, mustsched man off to the other side chuckled.
“Shut up!”
“Now now, all part of the game innit?,” the portly man encouraged. “Just sell him for whatever worth he’s left, and there’s always next time at the auction. Now…” He looked down at the winning fighter in the ring.
The man with the boar-quirk stumbled around the fighting ring, yelling incomprehensible, defiant threats. His eyes were glazed, likely from the effect of some concoction of drugs and steroids. A sleepy-eyed man entered the ring, accompanied by several powerful-looking attendants. At the sight of his handler, the boar-man froze, fear filling his eyes. He shook his head, mouthing a plea, but to no avail. A strange, blue mist blew from the handler's mouth, washing over the boar man. The panicked boar-man charged, but within a few steps he stumbled and fell to the ground. The handler waited several moments before prodding the fighter's body to make sure the boar-man was truly out. He turned to the attendants and nodded. The winning fighter was carried out, newly-placed chains clinking as they dangled from his body.
“That one is promising, isn’t he?”
“Indeed.” The woman agreed twirling a ringed finger in her hair. “I’m definitely adding him to my list. You gonna bid on him too?”
“Well, he certainly wouldn’t be a bad addition to my line-up! But mind, it’s only an hour in and we’ve yet to see the others. Still- now, what lot number was that one again?” The mustached, stout man asked the waiter standing nearby.
“024, sir.”
The portly man patted his pockets with one hand. “Ah damn, it’s in me other pocket.” He handed off the wine glass onto the waiter’s tray. A small black notepad and ornate pen was pulled out. He quickly scribbled down the number.
“What time’s the auction tonight? 2:00 am right?” The younger man glanced at his watch. “I want to take an up-close look at them beforehand. Where do they keep them?”
The woman side-eyed him. “What makes you think they’ll let you in? It’s cheating you know, to see which ones look good and which ones look like they’ll just die in one round.”
“It’s not just the fighters, I want to see the kids with the interesting quirks. And I heard that rumor, lady. We all know you bribe your way to getting a peek before the rest of us do. So, where are they?”
A sneer curled up on the woman's lips. “Oh? A rumor? If they did let me in, it’s because I got connections doing me a favor, and I repay them in kind.” She looked the young man up and down, an expression of disdain on her face. “You really got those kinds of connections, boy?”
“Connections? Connections? I’m a buyer with a whole lot of money that they’ll want,” the young man flashed a wallet overflowing with cash and credit cards. “Just tell me where, old bitch.”
The woman took a long drag from her cigarette as she glared at him. A moment passed before she exhaled and rolled her eyes. “Down the first floor, to the back. There’s a stair to the basement.”
The man shoved the wallet in his dress jacket pocket and stormed off without a word, roughly knocking the shoulder of the nearby waiter.
“Hmph… thank you?? Oh, you over there!” The woman yelled to one of the working attendants. “Do tell the guards below not to let him back up, will you?”
“Rude upstart isn’t he? The mustsched man tsked. “And a basement? I didn’t see an elevator or any staircase down.”
“There’s no lower level. Not in this building section anyway.”
“Ah.” He raised an eyebrow, pausing for several moments in deep contemplation. His hand reached in his pocket, and pulled out a leather-etched checkbook. He stepped closer to the woman, and began to write. “You know, dear madam, I find that I quite enjoy your company. Now, I can’t help but be very curious know as to just where…”
A certain number of zeros were added to the check.
“…they could possibly be kept, my illustriously elegant and keenly intelligent associate?”
Even more zeroes.
“Ah,” The woman’s eyes narrowed with amusement as a sly, greedy grin spread on her face. “First floor, east passage leads to a second adjoining building besides this warehouse. Mention my name and give the men there a generous tip. Then they’ll let you in the real room below.
“A most humble thank you madam. And now, I shall take my leave.” The portly man bowed his head with a tip of his hat, and waddled away.
The noise from the crowd below began to grow in volume.
“Ah, the next fight...”
“Any more drink, madam?” The waiter inquired.
“Shhh. Not now!” The woman leaned forward to watch. The fighting bell rung, and the spectator noise grew tremendously.
The waiter bowed, and took several steps back, fists tightening. Discretely, he let out a long sigh, closed his eyes, and opened them. He walked away, tray and discarded glasses in hand.
Steadily and swiftly with purpose in his steps, but careful to not appear to be in a rush, he traversed the stairs down to the second floor. A black shadowy specter crept up from under the staircase rungs and began to follow. The waiter turned into the hallway leading to the kitchen area, and paused. He spotted the dark specter, and nodded to acknowledge its presence. Cautiously, he checked around him to see if anyone was close by. He was alone in the hallway, for now. He tapped on the listening device carefully hidden in his suit. “Did you get all of that?”
***
(One block away)
Concealed outside in the parking lot of a nearby building, unmarked police vans were parked. And within the building, a large joint task force of brightly costumed heroes and suited police officers waited on standby. Several older, non-quirked officers stood aside from the main group, eyeing the costumed persons in suspicion. It was still a fairly new policy to have licensed power users authorized to act on behalf of law enforcement. Everyone muttered quietly among themselves, tense and eager to move. Ashtrays were already filled with used cigarette nubs and the portable coffee machine was hard at work providing refills for the sleep-deprived.
This quirk trafficking ring had been under investigation for many long months. Months of finding bodies of discarded fighters disposed in the river. Months of collecting accounts from tearful families and friends of victims. Months of carefully weeding out the corrupt officers involved in covering up the trafficking ring’s tracks. And even longer months following money trails and spying on suspects. Now finally, they found them, here at this off-the-books warehouse where the ring conspirators came together.
The law now knew the names of the villains, all the quirks to expect, as well as names of certain elites associated in this sordid business. All that was left was to confirm the specific location of the captive victims so they would be extracted and protected safely during the raid, which was harder than it seemed. The trafficking ring villains were cautious, and some kind of shielding quirk or sensory distortion quirk blocked all signs of movement or life outside the walls. And so the officers and heroes waited on their undercover men on the inside to give word.
“Did you get all of that?” The voice crackled through the radio.
“We did indeed. Good work. Get yourself close to the exit and standby.”
Everyone stood to attention as the dispatch officer rose from his chair, snapped his fingers and waved his hand. His hand turned a dial, playing back the audio, enabling everyone to listen. Another officer marked the location of the trafficked victims on a large blueprint on display.
“Everyone, we have confirmation! The victims will be located here, the basement of the adjourning building to the east. Assume that they will be heavily guarded and that they will try to move the victims once alerted. Get in. Immobilize and take down the suspects, and get the victims out as quickly as possibly. Any questions?”
The dispatch leader looked over the gathering of officers and heroes. No other questions. Everyone was ready.
“Good! You all know what to do. Heroes! Time to-!”
It was at this very moment that everything went wrong.
It was in this moment that many paths once-thought to be set in stone, were forever knocked off-course.
It all began with a low quiet hum.
The droning was barely noticeable at first but it grew louder, louder, and louder. The strange hum seemed to reverberate through the very fabric of reality itself. The ground shook and even the air visibly trembled in a way that was akin to beholding a mirage on the horizon. Cups and pens rattled on tables. Lights flickered and sparked out. Everyone took a step back, looking around them in unease.
“What’s this?”
“A villain attack?!”
“Guys, it’s probably just another earthquake..."
“Where is it coming from?”
“Shut up! Look at the sky!!!”
The sky was wrong.
In middle of the clear starry, moonlit sky, a rift formed and grew, revealing a second sky. This sky smoked, lit up with a dull red glow from unseen fires. The gash in the sky rapidly expanded downwards, covering the city block with a shimmering, transparent blanket. Nothing physically changed, but the light had shifted. The colors and details was dulled and blurred.
“What the hell?!! Am I seeing double?” A red costumed hero looked at his hand, he could clearly see himself and other people, but everywhere else?
Things that weren’t supposed to be there appeared. Some other objects, trees, cars, and building signs had blurry duplicates beside them. Buildings suddenly had intangible, double images of that same building imposed over them, many appearing to be in smoldering ruins and rubble. It was akin to a movie playing two overlapping clips at the same time. One scene played in a normal city block, and the other scene played in the aftermath of some kind of destruction. And both were being played together, overlapping as one. The noises and smells were equally distorted. Strangely, the scents of fresh air, cigarettes, and coffee blended together with new scents of smoke, hot metal, and dust. And there were the people too.
A civilian in tattered and dirty clothing sped by the red costumed hero. The two met each other’s eyes for a moment, sharing dual expressions of confusion. The civilian tripped, falling on the ground. The hero reached out a helping hand, but gasped as his hand simply phased through. The intangible man, eyes wide, lurched away from the hero, seeming equally surprised. He looked backward, as if remembering why he was running, and picked himself up and fled. There were more blurry visages of people running among the rubble. All running from something. They looked just as confused at their surroundings as the people here on this side of the veil. And their cries, echoing and barely audible and echoing, were despairing.
“Why are they doing this???”
Kill him, not us!!”
“Damn you HPSC!”
“Gotta get out of the blast zone, gotta get out!”
“We can see them, but we can’t touch them.” The red costumed hero remarked. He tapped the comm in his ear. “Everyone! You can’t touch them. I think it’s an illusion quirk or something.”
“Copy Crimson Riot.”
“Proceed with the operation. This is likely a villain’s distraction. Go, go go!!”
Crimson Riot waved towards his sidekicks and fellow heroes. Altogether they raced towards the trafficking ring.
“Hover, do we still have eyes on the warehouse?”
A hero with with helicopter-like body extensions hovered in the air, watching from a distance. He shouted to be heard over the noise of the rushing wind.
“Yes, but that thing, mirage, whatever, it’s covering it too. One thing’s for sure, this is one hell of an illusion quirk!”
“How big is it?”
“Big.”
“Elaborate, Hover.”
“It’s BIG. It’s not just this warehouse and block, but the whole district! People have gotta be panicking down there right now.”
“Copy.”
“Sending word to HPSC to make a city-wide announcement.”
“Are we absolutely SURE that it’s an illusion quirk?”
“It’s gotta be, or something similar. We’ve tried making contact, but any touch just goes right through as if it’s not there.” Crimson Riot chimed in. “I don’t think it’s real.”
“I’m glad, because what I’m seeing from that mirage ain’t a pretty sight!” another hero commented.
Hover vehemently agreed. From the air, the illusion, if it was an illusion, looked just like the ruins from a large-scale, very powerful, villain attack. His eyes narrowed, and adjusted the settings on his wearable binoculars. Close to the warehouse, he could see blurry mirages of other persons, many in costumed garb. Heroes or villains? He couldn’t tell. He zoomed out and looked around the city district again in amazement. The duplicate city was so similar, yet so different from his.
A shimmering dim spot of light appeared in the dark, at the furthest edge of the veil in the sky. It grew brighter, and brighter, and brighter.
Hover adjusted his goggles.
He couldn’t explain why, but a small pit of dread formed in his stomach at the sight of it. And that pit of dread grew when the object changed direction in mid-air. Specifically in their direction.
“Uh... Air command, just making sure, anything pinging on radar? I’m getting visuals of something fast and bright incoming.”
“Copy Hover. Hold on... No... nothing except you in the air.”
“Confirmed, nothing showing on the sensors, could be part of the illusion.”
It was bright, fast, and visibly missile-shaped, and had a strange warping effect on the dual images of the city around it. And it was nearly here. Logically Hover knew it was probably part of the giant mirage and was harmless, but as a hero with over a decade of experience under his belt, his gut was screaming “danger.”
“I don’t know guys. Something doesn’t feel right. Pull everyone—”
*
*
*
The world blew up in a blinding white.
That glowing projectile on the other side of the veil moved too quickly for anyone to react. It made impact. For a "mirage," the shock wave it generated was more than powerful enough to cross over into this world. After many eternally long moments, the blinding light and deafening thunderclaps faded into the darkness of night, leaving behind the sounds of pained moans and crumbling rubble.
Gone was the rift. Gone was the veil and gone were the double images from the other world. All the colors and details were sharp and crisp now, save for the white gray of the settling dust. The images of a ruined city block were still there, but it was not the “illusion” of the ruins seen across the veil. The once pristine city district now looked like a replica of it’s counterpart. Sharp smoke, rough dust, the coughing of stunned heroes and police thrown back by the blast. Many lay groaning, some unmoving with spots of blood on their uniforms and costumes. The heroes and police task force members, the ones that were still able, staggered to their feet, and scrambled to get a grasp of the situation.
“HPSC! We need backup and rescue heroes! There was an explosion, a big one! Casualties expected.”
“Oh god, was it real after all?!”
“Crimson Riot, Haunt, Rebar, Hover, everyone, are you ok?? … Someone respond!”
After several tense moments, static crackled through the comms. “Crimson Riot here. I’m ok, but dammit! Rider’s down. Rebar got hit on the head. Dunno about the others. I was able to shield Haunt so he’s ok. The warehouse is in bad shape, and so is the side building with and the victims are still inside! We need rescue heroes and medics here NOW!”
“Hover? Hover??”
“No response from him sir.”
“Dammit. Rebar?”
A female voice coughed. “Just a bump on the head, I can still fight and move, sir.”
“Rebar are you sure-” Crimson Riot said with concern lacing his voice.
“I’m fine!”
Another voice chimed in, grizzled and raspy-sounding from dust. “This is Haunt, my ears are ringing like hell but I’m ok. I’m going ahead to check the damage and for casualties in the warehouse.”
“Copy,” said the dispatch leader. “Attention! All able-bodied heroes! We have expected casualties in the warehouse. HPSC has been contacted and back-up is on the way. Priority are the trafficking victims, but everyone else will need saving and extraction too! Prepare and expect for any survivors to be villains!”
“Going in,” Haunt said to Crimson Riot who nodded beside him.
The black costumed hero knelt on the ground, and closed his eyes. From his hands, multiple, shadowy specters emerged, crawling and slithering towards the building ruins. The specters were semi-tangible, weak, but fast. They had night vision and could slip through small holes and cracks. A perfect surveillance quirk. His eyes remained closed, but they shifted underneath his eyelids, seeing through the “eyes” of his specters now. The specters reached the ruins of the warehouse and dove in the rubble. Moments later, Haunt’s face twitched with a grimace. It was bad, rubble and bodies everywhere. The multiple floors had collapsed, crushing many underneath. The air was filled with the sounds of creaking metal, as well as the groans and moans of voices in agony.
“We’re gonna need a lot of ambulances here, Command."
* * *
(Some hours later…)
It was a grim task, reporting the locations of bodies and survivors one by one. Most who were in the warehouse above-ground were already dead from the blast, including the brave officer who was an undercover waiter. But there were some bittersweet moments as well. The heroes had been successful in saving the majority of the quirk trafficking victims hidden in the basement. The brunt of the mysterious blast, seemed to have been contained to just the one block, but the shock wave did damage across more than a third of the city. Hover was found alive, but in critical condition. Wailing sirens and ambulance horns filled the air. The area had been cordoned off and the media had already arrived. Cameras flashed and reporters were pushing mics into the faces of anyone official-looking. Meanwhile for the recovery team, the grisly job of pulling bodies and hunting for survivors continued. There was no rest for them, not yet.
“Haunt, you need to take a break, your quirk is at your limits.” Rebar said to her fellow hero with concern.
“I need to make sure we got everyone.”
“Haunt… we’ve already cleared it that area.”
“Just lemme finish scouring this last section!”
Rebar was right, he was running on fumes, and he could only control one specter now. Deep in the bowels of the warehouse ruins, the specter slithered through the rubble of metal and concrete. The specter paused here and there, careful to listen for any signs of life, and moved on. It moved on to one area still filled with rubble. It was the epicenter, Haunt realized, where the missile landed. He’d already looked here before, and there wasn’t really a point in looking in this area, because who could survive a direct hit from THAT? But something told him to look again.
Slowly, the specter passed over the area, meter by meter. There was a slight noise. The specter turned to the source. It was in the shadow, where a large section of rooftop and framing had fallen into a pile not far off to the side. It was likely just the sound of rubble shifting. Still, the specter cocked his head, and investigated. Haunt’s gut was right. There was a hand peeking out underneath the twisted metal and concrete crumbs. Bloodied, blackened, and deeply damaged, but still a human hand.
He drew in a breath. “Got another body. In the damage center, nine meters to the left from the fighting ring. Checking for signs of life now.”
Rebar and some rescuers nearby snapped their heads up to attention and leaned in to listen. The spectral projection was half-intangible but could still touch and move very light objects. It reached and grabbed the wrist of the hand, feeling for a pulse. Several long moments passed.
Haunt’s eyes opened wide. He shouted “Survivor, I have a survivor!”
A large, organized flurry of activity followed. Rebar headed in the direction of the survivor with a team of medics and rubble experts. As urgent as it was to save the victim, reaching them would still be time-consuming. Rebar had to stabilize the zone first with her rebar quirk, and other heroes with strength-based quirks would work with the rubble experts to carefully remove the debris without harm to both victim and rescuer.
Haunt paced outside and waited. He’d gazed into the open eyes of too many corpses tonight. More than anything, he wanted to look into the eyes of one more living person who had been recovered from this disaster. After what felt like ages, the victim was brought out, strapped down securely to the medical stretcher. Haunt jogged to them. There he got a good look at the victim and his stomach clenched. The victim’s eyes were closed and it was hard to see the features under all the blood and dust, but it was an unconscious white-haired young male. He was well-built, tall, had grayed, charred skin, and was deeply, deeply injured.
“God, he’s in bad shape.” A medic commented.
“He’s got wounds of all kinds. Could be injuries from different quirks? He’s got to be one of the fighters.”
“Fighter?” Haunt whispered in horror to himself. “More like a bait dog from the looks of him.”
“NO!!!” The scream came from a woman pressing through the crowd of onlookers and reporters. The dark-haired woman was in dirtied, torn clothing, muddied, wet streaks under her eyes. She slipped through the barriers and dashed towards the man on stretcher.
“Ma’am you have to stop!” Some officers tried to catch the woman but she eluded them. She reached the stretcher before Haunt could block her. Biting down a sob, she touched the face of the young man.
“Ma’am I’m so sorry but you have to let us take him.” The medic tried to block her.
“Please, let me go with him.”
“He’s badly hurt and needs to go to the hospital You have to let us-”
“Just let me go with him!”
“We’re here to help, but you can’t come on the ambulance, but an officer can escort you to-”
“No!” She shouted. “I know you don’t care but just let me go with him please!”
Several officers stepped forward and pried the woman’s hands off the body and stretcher, and Haunt grabbed her arms. The medics swiftly pushed and loaded the stretcher in the helicopter. The woman kicked and screamed as the helicopter rose and flew towards the city hospital.
“Haven’t you done enough?? Let him die in peace! I’m his aunt. Just let me go with him, I don’t want him to die alone!” She sobbed as Haunt held her back. Haunt’s heart couldn’t help but break for her. As the medical helicopter’s flickering lights and sounds of the rotors faded in the distance, Haunt gently but firmly walked the woman to one of the medical tents.
“It’s all right, you’re safe, he’s safe now. We’re not going to hurt him.” He spoke as consoling as he could. “You need medical care too, but we can take you to the hospital to see him. He’s free now. He’s safe.”
“Safe?? Free??” The woman bitterly spat out.
“Ma’am, ma’am!! Look at me, look at me.”
The woman glared at him with teary eyes.
Haunt gently asked, “You said you are his aunt?”
She nodded but lifted her head with defiant look, and shakily said “Yes, I’m the only one left who cares about him. You have a problem with that??”
“He’s one of people who were forced to fight, wasn’t he? I don’t know what he’s gone through, or what you’ve gone through, but I promise we’re NOT going to hurt him, we’re going to help him. I give you my word as a hero.”
The sincerity in Haunt’s voice couldn’t help but give the woman pause. She studied his face. The shifting expressions of of confusion, suspicion, and tentative hope in her face broke Haunt’s heart all over again. Why she was so mistrustful of people that were clearly rescuers? He wasn’t sure he would like the answers.
“Think of the better future moving forward, for him. Be strong. What’s his name?”
An even stronger expression of confusion washed over the woman’s face. “His name?”
Haunt nodded.
“I don’t understand. You’re asking who he is?”
“Yes?”
She scoffed. “You don’t really know him?”
“No?”
A bitter, quiet cackle begun to erupt from her mouth.
"Ma'am?"
“You’re either stupid or just trying to fuck with me, aren’t you? What are you trying to pull over? You so-called heroes are all the- Oh!” The woman gasped as she stared at the buildings behind Haunt. “That’s… That’s not right,” she whispered.
Haunt turned around to look and his eyes widened. He hadn’t seen it, having been so focused on the human rescue effort. He hadn’t paid any serious attention to the infrastructure damage in the city. But looking now, the tower before him was heavily damaged, lopsided heavily to the side. Strangely enough, it looked like as if it had “melded” with the neighboring buildings. But there was no doubt. This was the newly built, tallest, most visibly noticeable building in this district. This was the Musha Hero Agency Tower. And it was NOT supposed to be here.
Haunt turned his head to the east. The Musha Tower he was familiar with was still in it’s usual place, several city blocks away, lights blinking in the distance.
He looked back. A second, identical version of the Musha tower towered over them, darkened.
“I don’t understand, I don’t understand...” The woman whispered over and over as she looked back and forth across the city skyline.
Haunt felt just as confused. “I don’t think I understand either…”
***
The heights and cold wind showed no sign of bothering the tall man standing atop the high-rise building. Frigid wind blew through the short, unruly tufts of his white hair. He looked down at the damaged, darkened city district and beheld the new chaos. A chaos that wasn’t caused by his own hand. And All For One laughed.
“I thought you would be more upset. So many quirks lost in that raid!” The doctor bemoaned over the radio.
“Hmm? Oh... that. Yes… it’s a shame. We had some rather decent connections with deep pockets too, all under the rubble now. But don’t worry, I believe the heroes were kindly able to salvage the best quirks for us and there’s ample time to recover them. But my mind is on whatever happened here. I find it… intriguing.
“What kind of quirk, or combination of quirks could do this though?” The doctor whispered, a baffled, awed tone in his voice.
“A mysterious explosion, and before that, glimpses into what looked like another world. A giant illusion, until it wasn’t. This is something new, even to me.”
“I scoured all government quirk records, as well as our trafficking associate’s records, and couldn’t find a quirk match. There are some with minor illusion quirks, and others destructive quirks, but none with the power to do THAT. And the heroes don’t seem to have a lead either.”
“So the HSPC is just in the dark as we are.” A smirk that oozed with ancient self-importance crept onto the man’s face and he chuckled.
“They all work SO hard to create a predictable world. They always think that they have the monsters in the dark all figured out. But when the slightest hint of chaos inevitably upends the order, they can’t predict their own first few stumbling steps forward. A literal bomb blew up their reality and they’re still trying to pretend that they have it under control. They’ll go looking for shortcuts and answers as they always do, then they’ll find ME, eager to give them a helping hand.
“Not everyone is a master of adaptability like you are, of course. Unfortunately for them.” The doctor chimed in.
“Indeed.” All for One chuckled. “Still… There’s something about this. I have a strong feeling if you will, that this particular event is going to have significant repercussions. I’m not quite sure yet how or when. In the meantime, do continuing monitoring quirk reports, will you doctor?”
“Of course, milord.”
All For One turned his focus again to the scene of destruction. The radio was quiet now and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how isolating and lonely it felt up here in the dark. It was only a matter of time before Shimura’s heir would return to Japan. He would break that boy too, like he had with all of the others. He would finally get his first possession back, and every day since would bring him closer and closer to his dream.
He, only he, could guide the future to it’s true path and rule it.
“Just you wait Yoichi. It will be me. Only me.” He whispered.
Or he presumed.