Chapter Text
Rain fell in hard, vertical lines, turning the collapsed logistics complex into a jagged silhouette of steel and broken concrete.
The damage made sense—at least on the surface.
A partial structural failure. Likely caused by age, poor maintenance, and the weight of recent storms. Load-bearing columns had given out. Floors had pancaked unevenly. Support beams had twisted under pressure.
It was the kind of collapse that shouldn’t have happened all at once—
—but did, when everything went wrong at the same time.
And now three heroes were moving through what remained.
Edgeshot slipped through a narrow breach in the outer wall first, his body compressing into thread-thin precision before reforming inside. Every movement was controlled, economical.
“Primary supports failed sequentially,” he said into comms. “Not an explosion. More like a chain reaction.”
Behind him, Best Jeanist stepped in, already extending fibers into fractured beams and hanging slabs, testing tension.
“Multiple weak points,” Jeanist added calmly. “If one column gave way, it would pull the rest with it. A progressive collapse.”
A third voice came through the comms, sharp and focused.
La Brava.
“I’m confirming that,” she said. “The structure was compromised before the failure. Old damage, stress fractures… this place was a disaster waiting to happen.”
In the background, faint layers of other voices and alerts bled through her channel—different frequencies, different calls.
Best Jeanist noticed it immediately.
“…You’re splitting your attention,” he said.
La Brava didn’t deny it.
“I have two other active rescue feeds open,” she replied, fingers flying across unseen controls. “Central Ops is stretched thin. I’m allocating as much bandwidth as I can to you.”
Kamihara’s voice stayed calm.
“…That’s enough,” Shinya said. “We’ll make it work.”
A short pause.
There was no complaint in it.
No room for one.
Because this was normal now.
After the Shigaraki and All for One war.
Too few heroes.
Too many emergencies.
Jeanist adjusted a tension line with his fibers, gaze steady on the structure ahead.
“…Your support is appreciated,” he said, precise as ever.
And it was.
Even divided, La Brava’s coordination was the only reason this operation still had structure at all with so few heroes attending to it.
A brief exhale came through the line—half focus, half strain.
“Rain probably pushed it over the edge,” she finished.
That grounded it.
Made it understandable.
Jeanist gave a small nod, even if no one saw it.
“Then we proceed as standard collapse rescue.”
Edgeshot exhaled once, steadying.
Five months of recovery had left his body precise again. Controlled. Reliable.
“I’m moving to first civilian pocket,” he said. “I can clear faster if I take point. Manual, how about you?”
„I will just backup, my quirk is of no great use here. Leave the victims to me.“
„Got it.“
Jeanist’s fibers tightened slightly.
“Stay within range,” he said. “We do not split.”
“No reason to,” Edgeshot replied.
A beat.
Then they moved.
---
Inside, the air was thick with dust and damp heat.
The corridor tilted downward at an awkward angle, forcing careful footing. Water dripped steadily through cracks above, hitting broken concrete in slow, uneven rhythms.
A slab shifted overhead.
Kamihara’s hand flicked once—
The falling piece shattered into smaller fragments before it could hit them.
“Path is clear,” he called.
Jeanist’s fibers surged forward, bracing unstable sections, stitching temporary structure into place.
“Civilians are two levels down,” Tsunagu said. “We move direct. No detours.”
La Brava guided them.
“I’ve got heat signatures clustered ahead—three, maybe four. Low movement.”
Edgeshot nodded to himself.
“Got it.”
---
The descent was tight, controlled.
No chaos—just pressure.
They moved civilians out one group at a time. Quick, efficient, practiced.
Manual walked them quietly through the labirynth of broken walls.
“Keep moving!” Edgeshot urged. “Follow the fibers—don’t stop!”
A man stumbled.
Edgeshot caught him, steadying him instantly.
“You’re good. Keep going.”
Jeanist reinforced a cracked beam just as it started to give.
“Next section is unstable,” he said. “We have minutes at most.”
La Brava’s voice cut in again—but this time, slightly strained.
“I’m getting inconsistent readings below you. Signal interference… I’m losing clean tracking in sections.”
Kamihara frowned.
“…Interference?”
“Yes,” she said. “Like parts of the structure are blocking everything. Thermal, movement—everything drops out for a moment, then comes back.”
Jeanist’s fibers stilled slightly.
“…Dead zones in a collapse zone are not unusual,” he said.
But his tone said he didn’t fully believe that.
---
They reached the next pocket.
Kamihara slowed.
“…That was faster than expected.”
Hakamata glanced around.
The space was intact—but barely.
A wall had shifted inward. The ceiling sagged low. The room felt compressed, like it had been squeezed.
Three civilians were trapped behind debris.
“I’ve got them,” Kamihara said immediately.
He shifted the obstruction just enough.
“Go. Stay low.”
Manual guided them out.
Clean.
Efficient.
Normal.
---
La Brava’s voice came back—tense now.
“I’m losing you again. There are gaps—I can’t keep a continuous read on your positions.”
Edgeshot glanced over his shoulder.
“…We’re still together.”
Jeanist didn’t answer.
Because he was checking that too.
A small delay in the comms.
A slight mismatch in timing.
Subtle.
Easy to ignore.
---
Then—
“Edgeshot. Report.”
Jeanist’s voice.
Kamihara answered instantly.
“Second group extracted. Moving on.”
Silence.
La Brava again—
“Confirm your formation.”
Edgeshot frowned slightly.
“…Three. Best Jeanist, me, and Manual.”
A beat.
Then La Brava:
“…No.”
Everything slowed.
“I only have two active signals in your position.”
Edgeshot stopped.
Turned.
Slowly.
“…What?”
Jeanist’s fibers stilled in the air.
“That is incorrect,” he said immediately. “Manual has been within range the entire time.”
La Brava hesitated.
“I don’t have him,” she said quietly. “Not on thermal. Not on comms. Not on movement.”
Kamihara’s breath slowed.
He turned fully now.
Behind them—
Empty corridor.
Dust settling.
No disturbance.
No sign of movement.
“…He was right there,” Shinya said.
Tsunagu's voice dropped.
“I confirmed him on entry.”
La Brava’s typing slowed, uncertain now.
“…I never locked a stable position on him after you went inside.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Wrong.
Edgeshot took one step back.
“…He didn’t leave,” he said.
Jeanist answered, quieter.
“…No.”
Another pause.
La Brava whispered:
“…Then where is he?”
No one answered.
Because nothing showed a struggle.
Nothing showed a collapse.
Nothing showed anything at all.
Just absence.
Clean.
Precise.
Impossible.
Edgeshot stared at the empty space.
And something in his voice shifted.
“…He is gone.”
Jeanist’s fibers tightened.
“…Then this is no longer a rescue.”
A pause.
La Brava, barely audible:
“…What do you mean?”
Jeanist looked deeper into the structure.
Still.
Controlled.
And colder than before.
“We are in the middle of an abduction.”
---
The office was too quiet for the kind of world it was supposed to manage.
Keigo Takami leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out, eyes fixed on the television without really blinking.
The news anchor spoke in that careful, measured tone people used when reality stopped making sense but they still had to pretend it did.
“—ongoing tensions between the desert regions of Geonosis and Jedha have escalated following an unprecedented loss of critical infrastructure…”
Satellite images filled the screen.
Two dry nations.
Endless sand.
Except one.
Geonosis.
A dark blue mass embedded beneath the surface—a vast underground reservoir.
Strategic.
Precious.
The only reason it hadn’t already fallen.
“…experts confirm that Jedha had been close to gaining leverage over Geonosis‘ northern basin, but—”
The image flickered.
The reservoir vanished.
Just… gone.
The anchor hesitated for half a second.
“…the reservoir has disappeared from all satellite and geological readings. No rupture, no evaporation pattern, no seismic disturbance has been detected.”
Silence.
Then, too quickly:
“Authorities are investigating a potential systems error.”
Hawks didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
But something behind his eyes sharpened.
“…No,” he murmured.
His fingers tapped once against the armrest.
Slow.
Deliberate.
“That’s not a system error.”
His gaze drifted slightly, unfocused now—not on the screen, but somewhere behind it.
Water.
Movement.
Containment.
Flow control.
His mind didn’t jump randomly.
It aligned.
“…Manual,” he said quietly.
The phone rang.
Perfect timing.
He picked up immediately.
“Yeah.”
Shota Aizawa didn’t waste time.
“…You see it?”
Hawks’ eyes stayed on the empty space where the reservoir had been.
“Yeah,” he said. “ Geonosis just lost an ocean.”
A pause.
Aizawa’s voice came tighter.
“…That water didn’t just disappear.”
“No,” Hawks replied. “It didn’t.”
Silence stretched.
Then Hawks leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees now.
“…Tell me something,” he said. “Manual’s Quirk—full control over water movement within contact range, right?”
Aizawa didn’t answer immediately.
“…Yes.”
Hawks’ voice dropped.
“And amplification?”
“…With support gear maybe, extended influence.”
Another beat.
Hawks’ gaze hardened.
“What if he wasn’t removed just to be taken off the board?”
Silence.
Then Aizawa, slower:
“…Go on.”
Hawks gestured slightly toward the screen, even though Aizawa couldn’t see it.
“What if he was taken because he’s a tool?” he said. “A very specific one.”
The word hung there.
Tool.
Not hero.
Aizawa’s voice lowered.
“…You’re saying—”
“I’m saying,” Hawks cut in quietly, “this doesn’t look like destruction. It looks like controlled displacement.”
He leaned back again.
Eyes narrowing.
“That amount of water doesn’t vanish. It gets moved.”
Silence hit harder this time.
Aizawa spoke after a few seconds.
“…That would require enormous output.”
“Yeah,” Hawks said. “Or the right conditions. The right environment. And someone with a compatible Quirk.”
Aizawa exhaled slowly.
“…Manual was inside a structure we already think was controlled.”
Hawks nodded slightly.
“Exactly. Controlled space. Controlled timing. Clean extraction.”
A beat.
“Then suddenly, somewhere else in the world—clean resource removal on a massive scale.”
The connection settled between them.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Aizawa said it first.
“…They’re using people.”
Hawks didn’t soften it.
“They’re using Quirks like infrastructure.”
Another silence.
Then Aizawa added, quieter:
“…This isn’t just abduction anymore.”
Hawks’ voice went colder.
“No,” he said. “It’s allocation.”
He glanced back at the screen.
Jedha.
Dry.
Starving.
Now potentially… not.
“…If that water shows up somewhere else,” Hawks continued, “we’re not looking at random disappearances anymore.”
Aizawa finished it.
“…We’re looking at a supply chain.”
The word sat wrong in the air.
Too clean.
Too organized.
Hawks rubbed a hand briefly over his face.
“In the last months,” he said, “heroes vanish. Different Quirk profiles. No obvious connection…”
A pause.
“Until you start seeing the pattern behind it.”
Aizawa didn’t argue.
Because that was the pattern.
Hawks’ voice softened slightly, but not in comfort—more in warning.
“We missed it because we were thinking in fights,” he said. “But this isn’t about fights. Not exclusively.”
“It’s about value,” Shota Aizawa replied quietly. “Economics. Environment. Politics…”
Keigo Takami let out a small, humorless exhale.
“Yeah.”
A longer silence followed.
Neither of them liked where this was going.
Not because it was unclear.
But because it was starting to make too much sense.
Hawks finally spoke again.
“…Be careful, Aizawa.”
A faint pause.
Then Aizawa:
“…You too.”
Hawks’ gaze drifted once more to the empty reservoir.
Then he added, softer—but sharper underneath:
“Watch your back. And your students.”
Aizawa’s reply came steady.
“…We’ll have to adjust.”
Hawks nodded slightly.
“Yeah,” he said. “We will.”
A beat.
Then, almost casually—but not really:
“Take care of that pretty face of yours.”
Aizawa didn’t react immediately.
Then:
“…Idiot.”
But there was no bite behind it.
The call ended.
And Hawks stayed where he was, staring at a piece of the world that hadn’t been destroyed—
Just reassigned.