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Hitoshi threw his capture scarf, lassoing a street lamp. From there he threw himself up and forward, high enough to grab the protruding decorative bricks that lined the edge of the nearest rooftop. His legs flailed, then found a grip against the wall, and he managed to haul himself up and over the railing. Then he had to stop and yank on the capture scarf. It took four tries to get it dislodged from the lamp.
"Good evening," Tokoyami said.
Hitoshi surpressed a startle. "A little warning would be nice."
Tokoyami approached from behind until he was also standing at the roof's edge, where Hitoshi could see him from the corner of his eye. Dark Shadow draped over his shoulders like a friendly cat.
"Find anything?" Hitoshi said, reeling in the scarf and winding it around his arm.
Grimacing, Tokoyami shook his head. "Her machinations still ellude us."
He didn't need to be more specific. Recently, minor acts of vandalism had spiked in this area. The disruptions might have seemed disconnected if not for the constant stream of letters that kept arriving at the local police station and hero agencies, attributing the crimes to some chick named Eba Hin. She was a wannabe villain, not a big enough deal to justify a coordinated search.
Even so, she excelled at getting on everyone's nerves. Hitoshi was almost jealous.
"Are you prepared for your journey?" Tokoyami asked.
"Always," Hitoshi said, finally grabbing the last piece of scarf.
"Then may the darkness guide you," Tokoyami said, taking off into the air.
Hitoshi had meant that he was prepared in general, not that he was ready to move this instant. Quickly, he threw the capture weapon and swung after his friend. He hit the next rooftop stumbling, but found his feet as he moved.
Tokoyami was still flying, already two buildings ahead.
Hitoshi huffed and picked up his pace. The next gap was small enough to jump without his scarf, but the new roof was slanted, and he had to work hard to run up the inclune. At the crest he pushed even harder, hoping to build up momentum for his next jump. He glanced ahead at the next gap, at possible holds for his scarf, at Tokoyami's position above.
His foot came down on empty space.
Time moved both slower and faster. Hitoshi's stomach flipped. His head smacked the edge of the roof and bounced back, spinning him end over end. He got a glimpse of the roof from inside, bare rafters above. His scarf was already, and his arm moved on reflex, casting the loose end. It wrapped around a horizontal beam, and Hitoshi came to an abrupt stop, arms straining in their sockets.
Then the scarf slipped, and Hitoshi dropped the rest of the way.
Plywood cracked under him like plaster. Hitoshi blinked, clearing the stars from his eyes. He was lying on a bare concrete floor, surrounded by the ruins of a cheep table.
"Grab him!" a woman shrieked.
Hitoshi scrambled, but wasn't quick enough to escape the grip of several metalic arms. He was hauled to his feet and found himself staring down a short woman in an apron and work gloves.
"Did you make these robots?" Hitoshi asked, nodding his head toward his current captors.
"I'll—" the woman started, and then her eyes went glassy.
Hitoshi smiled. "Tell your friends to let go."
"Let go," the woman said.
Hitoshi nearly feel over again as every arm released him at once. He felt a twinge in his ankle as he put weight on his right foot—he must have strained it again in the fall.
"Nighthide," Tokoyami said through the com, "Where are you hiding in this deep night?"
"I fell," Hitoshi said, glancing around the room.
It was a run-down house, stripped of insulation, with a hole in the roof big enough for hitoshi to fall through. Tables lined the walls, their surfaces covered with blueprints and spare parts. Hitoshi considered releasing his quirk. This was suspicious, but inventing things in your own house wasn't illegal. Then his eyes caught on some papers scattered among the broken pieces of the table where he'd landed.
Tokoyami dropped through the roof and landed lightly on the ground, dark shadow flaring around him. "Are you hurt?"
Hitoshi sat down, taking the weight off his ankle. Then he picked up one of the papers. From afar, the layout had been familiar, even in the dim light. Now Hitoshi unclipped the flashlight from his belt and began to read.
The rubble in your yard sparked my interest. Your architecture is too good to be true. Every line feels purposeful without ever feeling like it's trying too hard. While walking by, your broken wall sparked an interesting repair idea in my mind. Connect with me at eva hin 22 .net no spaces.
A shadow fell over the page as Tokoyami leaned forward, reading upside down. "Ah," he finally said, "Nighthide, you seem to be one step ahead of me."
Hitoshi felt and odd mixture of self-satisfaction and annoyance. "Her repairs can't be that good, or she would have fixed her own roof."
"Did she use her quirk on you at all?" Tokoyami asked.
Hitoshi's shoulders slumped. "No." That meant whatever scam she was running might be criminal, but wasn't technically villainy. Eba was outside their jurisdiction.
Tokoyami pulled a phone out of his pocket. "I'll call the police."
Even with Recovery Girl's assistance, Hitoshi found himself grounded from active patrol for a few days to let his ankle rest. It gave him a chance to sleep in, clean his house, and catch up on paperwork.
His elderly neighbor had a key to his apartment and often stopped by to water his plant, feed his cat, and bring in his mail. Given how frequently Hitoshi was traveling or sleeping, it was a helpful arrangement, but it did lead to situations like the eight centimeter stack of miscellaneous papers on the kitchen table, half important reports and half junk mail. Hitoshi sat down with a cup of black coffee and got to work.
Three documents in, Hitoshi found a letter addressed from the local jail. He ripped the envelope open, curious which villain Midoriya was trying to use him as a role model for this time.
Your agency building looks like a soul wandering through the rough moonlight ruins, the first line read.
Hitoshi groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the table. Vandelism might be illigal, but there was no escape from vapid spam.