Later, as the elevator doors slid open with a muted hiss, Baker and his men stepped out into a quiet, dimly lit hall and entered Might Tower's All Might department, a golden All Might statue was visible in the background.
"Fan out," he ordered gruffly. "Make sure there's no one else here." His men dispersed with practiced efficiency.
One of them, with a hint of skepticism in his voice, muttered, "Still paranoid about SHIELD?"
Ignoring the comment, Baker approached the unoccupied receptionist desk, his steps echoing in the deserted space. He carefully placed the silver briefcase on the desk and opened it with deliberate movements. "It's like the old joke: just 'cause you're paranoid…"
"Doesn't mean they're not out to get you, yeah, I know," he finished, rolling his eyes slightly.
Baker removed several layers of insulated packaging from the case, revealing its contents—a small glass vial filled with a swirling purple liquid. He held it up to the light, examining it with a mixture of awe and reverence.
"Incredible," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the vial. "Hard to believe the contents in this little tube can change the world."
A short moment of silence followed as the men contemplated the potential havoc contained within the glass.
"Well, we're here. Now what?" the younger man asked, breaking the silence.
"Now, we wait," Baker replied, his tone ominous. "We wait for the day to start. We wait for Might Tower to be filled with thousands of people." His red brows furrowed as he carefully placed the vial back into the case. "And then we release the Zodiac. How fitting that the Symbol of Peace's headquarters will be ground zero to herald in a new era."
In the stillness of the SHIELD helicopter cabin, tension hummed through the air, palpable and thick. Captain Midoriya sat rigid, his face set in a mask of silent frustration, hands clenched tightly. The quiet whir of the helicopter blades slicing through the air did little to distract from the weighty purpose of their mission. Across from him, Romanoff observed his demeanor with a keen eye, her experience as a spy telling her there was more beneath the surface of his stoic facade.
"What's on your mind, Captain?" Romanoff's voice cut through the cabin's hum, sharp yet not without a hint of genuine concern.
Midoriya's eyes met hers, a storm brewing within them. "The item we're after... It shouldn't exist anymore," he admitted, the words heavy with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "SHIELD should have destroyed all of it. The entire world's safety is in jeopardy."
Romanoff's expression was measured. "...I'm sure they had their reasons. In any case, this is why you are here. Situations like this require... special attention."
The cabin fell into silence again, the gravity of the situation settling over them like a dense fog. It was Brock who broke the quiet, his voice coming from the cockpit. "Widow, we're approaching your designated drop-off zone."
Acknowledging with a slight nod, Romanoff turned her attention back to Midoriya. "Before you go, why 'Black Widow'?" he inquired, a trace of curiosity breaking through his concern.
She offered him a small, enigmatic smile, the kind that hinted at stories untold. "Let's just say it suits my particular set of skills," she said, her tone light but her eyes guarded, revealing nothing more.
Midoriya, seizing a moment of levity amidst the tension, ventured a jest. "So, it has nothing to do with your Quirk? Should I be on the lookout for any...unexpected dietary preferences?"
Romanoff's smirk widened, amusement flickering in her eyes for a split second. "No," she quipped back, "that's reserved for those who truly get on my bad side."
"Got it, avoid becoming dinner," Midoriya retorted, the brief exchange offering a momentary reprieve from the mission's gravity.
"And you?" she countered, eyes flickering over his uniform. "Why not wear the new costume you brought from UA?"
Midoriya exhaled, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "Staying undercover," he explained. "If someone were to see me wearing that and recognize me, it would put an end to my time at UA, not to mention draw unwarranted attention to our operation here."
Romanoff's gaze softened slightly, her posture relaxing as she leaned back. "I've been wondering, the First Hero attending a hero academy," she mused aloud, "Why?"
Midoriya's expression turned thoughtful, a distant look in his eyes. "I've missed a lot," he confessed, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "UA is my way of catching up, of understanding this era... and keeping a promise to someone very special."
For a moment, Romanoff studied him, her expression unreadable. Then, as the signal light blinked, indicating they were nearing her drop-off point, she stood, adjusting her gear. "Well, this is my stop. Make sure to follow the others' lead, intern," she teased, a rare flicker of amusement crossing her features.
Midoriya rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the wry smile that crossed his face in response. "Ha-ha..." he retorted, the tension from earlier dissipating slightly.
As Romanoff made her exit, Midoriya watched her go, the weight of the mission settling back onto his shoulders.
On the ground floor, Honda, the man who had assumed the role of the fallen security guard, was lounging behind the front desk. He casually flicked through the dead guard's tablet, his eyes landing on the highlights of the All-Star Games.
"Why is everyone so obsessed with a bunch of kids using their powers on each other?" Honda muttered to himself, his voice laced with disdain. "Real sports died long ago…"
His attention was abruptly drawn away from the tablet by the sound of coughing. Honda looked up to see a man in a brown leather trench coat stumbling into the lobby. The man was clutching his throat, coughing intermittently.
"Hey there! I'm," the man paused, erupting into another bout of coughs, "looking for the Tokyo Dome."
Honda, unimpressed, replied dryly, "Well, it's obviously not in here, gaijin."
The man, still coughing, edged closer to the desk. "Oh, sure. I know that."
Honda's suspicion grew. He slowly stood up, his hand inching towards the pistol concealed in his back pocket. "I think you'd better head back out."
The man feigned hurt, coughing again. "You'd talk that way to a tourist?"
Honda's patience wore thin. "Yeah, that's it. You're heading out right n–"
Before he could finish his sentence, a disk whizzed through the air, striking him squarely in the head with a loud clang. The force of the impact sent Honda collapsing to the ground, unconscious. The disk ricocheted off the ceiling and returned to the hand of its thrower.
"Nice bit of acting work, Rumlow," Captain Midoriya praised, speaking in English.
Clad in his SHIELD-exclusive costume, Captain Midoriya stood tall and confident. His attire, while reminiscent of his original UA Alpha costume, now showcased a striking shift in its color palette. The dominant dark green had given way to a dark navy blue, lending the suit a more subdued yet equally commanding presence.
The chest emblem, once a 3D white and red star, had been simplified to a stark, plain white star, resonating with the suit's streamlined aesthetic. Complementing this change, his gloves and utility belt were crafted from a rich leathered brown, adding a touch of ruggedness to his ensemble. The boots, formerly a vibrant red, had transformed into a deep blue, seamlessly blending with the suit's overall color scheme.
Integrated into this new attire was his helmet, no longer a separate piece but an extension of the suit itself. It wrapped around the back of his neck, offering enhanced protection without sacrificing mobility or comfort. Unlike his last helmet though, there was a bold white 'A' emblazoned in the front.
The shield, Midoriya's iconic symbol of defense and resilience, had also received a makeover to align with his SHIELD attire. The outer and third rings sported a light blue hue, while the middle ring contrasted sharply in silver. At the heart of the shield, the central star mirrored the one on his chest – a segmented white star creating a 3D effect, encased within a dark navy circle that perfectly matched the suit's primary color.
"You know, I used to do some of that back in the day," Captain Midoriya commented, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
Rumlow, now fully geared in a dark gray Kevlar vest layered over a black, short-sleeved shirt, paired with black combat jeans and sturdy boots, offered a smirk in response. "Where do you think I learned it, Captain? During training, they used to show us old videos of your missions."
Captain Midoriya raised an eyebrow, amused yet intrigued. "Well, now it's time to show me what else they've taught you."
Rumlow's smirk widened as he made a pointed observation. "Funny you should say that, considering you're the intern here."
"Hilarious," Captain Midoriya replied, his tone laced with dry humor. Together, they made their way toward the elevators down the hall.
Captain Midoriya's expression turned grave. "We shouldn't even be here. These people—whoever they are—managed to steal the Zodiac from SHIELD," he said, his gaze fixed intently on Rumlow. "And that's after SHIELD claimed they didn't have it."
The elevator doors slid open, and the pair stepped inside.
"And now they don't." Rumlow casually retorted. "And we're gettin it back. Top floor, right?"
As the distinct chime of the arriving elevator cut through the tense silence, Baker instinctively tensed, his eyes darting toward the sound. "Positions, now!" he commanded, his voice laced with urgency. This wasn't a part of the morning routine, not at this hour. An elevator in use now only spelled trouble.
At his command, his men raised their weapons, aiming at the elevator doors with grim determination. The moment the doors began to part, they unleashed a barrage of gunfire, expecting to neutralize any threat swiftly. Yet, what met their attack wasn't flesh and blood but an impromptu barricade that seemed to defy all logic.
"What in the—Is that bone?" one of the assailants gasped, disbelief coloring his tone as he witnessed the bullets clink harmlessly off the solid barrier.
Then, as if to answer their unspoken questions, the barricade morphed, sending out bone-like protrusions that struck with the precision and force of spears. The gunmen hit were sent flying, their weapons clattering to the floor.
The barrier lowered, revealing Rumlow, grinning at the disarray before him, and Captain Midoriya, his expression focused and unyielding. Baker's grip tightened on the briefcase, recognizing the turn of the tide.
One terrorist muttered under his breath, "Guess paranoia paid off, boss..."
But Baker was already in motion, his command slicing through the air, "Take them down!"
As the remaining terrorists realigned their aim towards the new threats, one man pulled out throwing knives from his vest and threw them at Rumlow and Midoriya. The Captain, shield at the ready, deflected the incoming projectiles with ease while Rumlow conjured another bone barricade, sheltering them from the hail of gunfire.
Rumlow, ever the combatant, quipped amidst the chaos, "Talk about hostile reception."
Captain Midoriya, catching sight of the knife-man preparing for another attack, called out, "The knife thrower!"
"Leave him to me. You take on the others," Rumlow quickly responded, a plan already forming in his mind.
With that, the Captain sprang into action. With a swift motion, he hurled his shield, its path calculated to incapacitate. The shield struck true, knocking out one assailant then another in a seamless ricochet before embedding itself into the wall, a testament to the precision behind the throw.
Captain Midoriya then found himself facing off against four terrorists, each one armed and dangerous. But the disparity in numbers did little to deter him. If anything, it seemed to amuse him. "Four to one. Odds seem a little unfair...to you," he quipped, his eyes scanning his opponents with a calm determination.
As the terrorists raised their guns to fire, the enhanced man acted with lightning speed. He lunged forward, seizing the wrists of the nearest gunman. With a swift twist, he forced the gunman to drop his weapon. His martial arts training, combined with his super-soldier enhanced strength, made him a formidable foe. One by one, he disarmed and took down the terrorists, his movements a blur of precision and power.
With the knife-thrower as his assigned target, Rumlow darted forward, intent on neutralizing the unique threat he posed. "Nice skewers," Rumlow commented dryly as he eyed the sharp weapons protruding from the mutant's body.
The knife-wielder, undeterred by the comment, prepared to throw several more knives at Rumlow. But Rumlow was far from ordinary. While sidestepping the knives, with hands armored in bone, a manifestation of his own Quirk, he caught one of the blades thrown at him with an ease that belied the danger of the situation.
"If I were slower, or maybe incompetent," Rumlow continued, his voice laced with a taunting edge as he held the captured blade between his bone-armored fingers. The assailant, taken aback by Rumlow's skill, hesitated for a moment—a moment that proved fatal.
With a swift motion, Rumlow hurled the knife back at its owner. The sharp projectile struck the man directly in the throat, silencing him instantly. "I might be worried," Rumlow finished his sentence, his tone unchanged even as he watched the terrorist collapse.
Baker watched from a distance, calculating, as Midoriya and Rumlow dismantled his team's efforts with a mix of raw power and strategic defense; his grip tightening on the briefcase. "Impressive. Though I wasn't aware that SHIELD had a Captain America knockoff in its ranks," he sneered, a mocking tone in his voice. "So tell me, Captain...How did you know we were here?"
Midoriya, just as he knocked out another assailant with a solid right hook, briefly turned his attention to Baker. "A little bird told me. I think you may know her," he retorted, his eyes locking onto Baker with an unwavering gaze.
Baker's confidence faltered for a moment, his eyes widening in shock. "Impossible. There's no-" His protest was cut short as the sound of shattering glass filled the lobby. In a dramatic entrance, the rest of the STRIKE Team swung into action, breaking through the windows and landing with precision and their weapons drawn.
Among them, Baker recognized one figure in particular. "Audrey?! But you were with us for weeks!" he exclaimed in disbelief.
"It's Natasha, actually. Audrey was my cover name," Romanoff corrected him, her voice devoid of any warmth. Without missing a beat, she drew her twin pistols, aiming them directly at Baker. "And your 401K plan was no good," she quipped before pulling the trigger, unleashing a barrage of bullets.
In a desperate attempt to shield himself, Baker raised his right arm to protect his head, the bullets ricocheting off his forearm. The fabric of his shirt tore apart under the assault, revealing his body was not merely flesh. Thick, gunmetal-gray plating covered his skin, a defense mechanism that his Quirk provided him–making him more than a match for conventional weapons.
As the bullets harmlessly deflected off his metallic body, Baker used the briefcase as a shield to protect his head. "Natasha, then," he acknowledged with a grudging respect. "You do realize that breaking the Zodiac's tube could spell disaster for us all?"
Romanoff paused, her pistols aimed but no longer firing, especially not at the briefcase. Baker's warning had given her pause, but only momentarily.
"If you want this case, you'll have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers," Baker taunted, his tone defiant.
Romanoff's gaze was steely, unflinching. "That won't be a problem," she countered, her voice cool as she prepared to advance, aiming for a lethal shot.
But Baker was quicker than she anticipated. In a swift move that belied his bulky appearance, he snatched Romanoff by the throat, his metal fingers constricting around her neck. Lifting her into the air with ease, his grip was unyielding.
"Actually, it may be more of a problem than you are willing to admit." Baker sneered, holding Romanoff aloft, her feet dangling as she struggled against his iron grasp.
Amid the chaos, Captain Midoriya and the STRIKE Team efficiently took down the remaining assailants. Midoriya, utilizing his superior combat skills and enhanced abilities, dispatched his foes with ease.
What caught his attention, though, was the lack of Quirk usage among the terrorists. It struck him as odd—were they really all without Quirks? Given the criminals' relatively young age, it was highly unlikely they were Quirkless. Did that mean they were intentionally not using their Quirks?
In the midst of the skirmish, one of the fallen terrorists, fueled by a mix of desperation and vengeance, staggered to his knees. His eyes, burning with a vengeful glare, locked onto Midoriya. Crawling towards his discarded pistol, he grasped it firmly, his aim set on the hero in the navy suit. "Goodbye," he whispered, a mix of pain and resolve in his voice.
Rumlow, ever vigilant, noticed the imminent threat from across the room. With a swift motion, he commanded his Quirk, propelling several bone shards towards the terrorist. The shards found their mark, rendering the man motionless and causing the pistol to clatter harmlessly to the ground.
Captain Midoriya, alerted by the commotion, spun around just in time to witness the terrorist's defeat.
"Appreciated," he acknowledged, offering a nod of thanks.
"Just doing my part," Rumlow responded, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie, even as he prepared to alert Midoriya to another threat.
Before Rumlow could finish, Captain Midoriya activated a mechanism on his left arm. A blue light emanated from the device attached to the back of his shield, which then soared through the air, magnetically summoned back to its owner. Midoriya caught the shield with the ease of a seasoned warrior and launched it towards another assailant bearing down on them. The shield connected with a satisfying thud, sending the attacker sprawling unconscious to the ground.
"Caught that one too," Captain Midoriya said with a confident smile, ready for whatever came next.
As Romanoff struggled against Baker's literal iron grip, her situation seemed dire.
"Give it up, Natasha. You can't win th–" His taunt was cut short when a surge of electricity from her gold gauntlets jolted Baker's metallic body, causing a momentary lapse in his hold. Seizing the opportunity, Romanoff extricated herself from his grasp and, with precise agility, delivered a powerful kick to his face, forcing Baker to recoil and momentarily kneel.
"Seems we have different definitions of 'can't'," Romanoff quipped, her voice steady despite the altercation.
Fueled by rage and the sting of the shock, Baker retaliated with a furious swing of the briefcase, catching Romanoff off-guard and sending her reeling backward. "This ends now!" he declared, preparing to launch another, potentially fatal, assault with his reinforced limbs.
But before he could deliver the blow, Captain Midoriya intervened, slamming his shield into Baker with enough force to divert the imminent threat. "That's enough!" Midoriya commanded, his presence imposing a halt to Baker's advance. "That's as far as you go!"
Undeterred and with a wild glint in his eye, Baker turned his attention to the nearest exit—a window leading out into the open. "Oh, I don't think so, Captain." He mocked. "I intend to go much, much further. Courtesy of my personal parachute." He suddenly rushed for the window and propelled himself through the glass. "The Zodiac will herald a new era!"
"NO!"
Reacting instinctively, Midoriya secured his shield on his back harness and pursued the fleeing Baker, leaping through the shattered window!
As Captain Midoriya and Baker plummeted from Might Tower's upper echelons, the Captain managed to close the distance between them in the free fall. With a determined grasp, he caught hold of Baker, specifically targeting the parachute's ripcord.
"Give me the case!" he demanded, the wind whipping around them intensifying the urgency of his command.
Baker, caught in the grip of desperation and disbelief, retorted, "Are you insane?! Let go of my ripcord...We'll both die!"
Midoriya's resolve did not waver; if anything, Baker's reticence only steeled his resolve further. "Then we die having stopped you!" he declared, his voice cutting through the rush of air around them.
The gravity of the situation and Midoriya's unwavering determination dawned on Baker. Faced with the real possibility of death and the sheer lunacy of the moment, Baker capitulated. "Fine! Here, take it, you lunatic!" he relented, thrusting the briefcase into Midoriya's arms.
With the case securely in his grasp, Midoriya released Baker, allowing him to continue his descent. Moments later, Baker deployed his parachute, veering away into the safety of the morning sky.
Meanwhile, Captain Midoriya's own descent was abruptly halted. A cable, fired from above, wrapped securely around his left arm.
"Got him!" Rumlow's voice echoed from the broken window above, the source of the steel cable with a grappling hook on its end.
With expert handling, Rumlow retracted the cable, steadily pulling Captain Midoriya back up to the top floor of Might Tower, the briefcase still firmly in his grip. As his feet touched solid ground again, Midoriya offered his gratitude, "Good shot, Rumlow."
Rumlow, a smirk evident in his voice, responded, "Told you I learned from you."
Black Widow approached as the STRIKE Team efficiently restrained the subdued assailants, ensuring the area was under control. "Well done, Captain," she praised, scanning the vicinity for any sign of their main adversary. "Baker?" she inquired.
Captain Midoriya, his face etched with a blend of disappointment and resolve, responded, "Escaped."
Romanoff nodded, a semblance of understanding in her demeanor. "The primary objective was securing the target, which we achieved. We'll handle Baker in due course," she reassured.
Holding the briefcase aloft, Captain Midoriya turned to face her, his voice tinged with a hint of accusation. "SHIELD claimed this was destroyed. No one's told me why they lied about it."
Romanoff met his gaze, unflinching. "Declaring it destroyed was meant to deter any would-be seekers. It was a necessary deceit," she clarified.
He paused, considering her words, then began to walk away, briefcase in hand. "Clearly, someone wasn't deterred," he observed, his tone steady.
Romanoff watched him for a moment before responding, "Then it seems you'll need to remain vigilant, Captain."
Kamino Ward, Japan
In the subdued ambiance of a rundown bar, only the gentle sound of ice cubes clinking against the sides of a glass broke the silence. Shigaraki, alone with his thoughts, idly swirled his drink, a mixture of whiskey and ice, lost in contemplation. Kurogiri, his ever-reliable right-hand, had vanished into his signature mist to fetch a potential ally, leaving Shigaraki to his solitude. Despite the television being on mute, the static image on the screen served as a constant reminder that his actions were under scrutiny.
A sudden swirl of dark mist interrupted his reverie, drawing his attention to the entrance. Setting aside his drink, Shigaraki placed a chilling, severed hand against his face, finding a perverse comfort in its cold embrace. As the mist cleared, revealing Kurogiri's return, Shigaraki was presented with the sight of the infamous Hero Killer, Stain, in the flesh. The unmistakable scent of blood and death that clung to Stain was a clear indicator of the man's lethal nature. Observing his surroundings with a critical eye, it was apparent Stain was assessing the area for potential threats, his caution bordering on paranoia.
Shigaraki couldn't help but feel irked by Stain's excessive vigilance.
As he took in Stain's appearance, noting the combat-ready boots, the assortment of knives, and a mask that seemed eerily familiar, Shigaraki's train of thought was abruptly halted by Stain's voice. "So, you're the group responsible for the attack on UA...and you're considering me for your ranks. Why?"
Positioning himself casually against the counter, Shigaraki addressed Stain. Despite the boredom lacing his tone, he spoke with a measure of respect. "In that last attack, we tried to go with quantity over quality. Of course, it cost us in the end. Now, with all the trash in custody, it's obvious that it's quality that we need. And you, you're well known to us criminals. Your experience and knowledge would be a valuable asset to us."
Stain's response was measured, his gaze sharp as he deliberated over Shigaraki's proposition.
"What are your objectives? What do you hope to accomplish with your group?" Stain inquired, his voice carrying a hint of skepticism.
With a dismissive shrug, Shigaraki laid bare their ambitions. "Simple. Kill All Might. And kill everyone and everything that we don't like." He retrieved a photograph from behind the counter, showing Midoriya in his hero costume at the USJ incident, complete with a shield reminiscent of Captain America–only with a different color palate. Sliding the photograph across the counter, Shigaraki voiced his frustration. "Like this guy, for example. He ruined everything. If it weren't for him, we would have succeeded."
Stain scrutinized the photograph, his expression turning contemplative at the sight of Midoriya's costume. "The All-Star Champion...drawing inspiration from Captain America, it seems," he observed, a trace of respect in his voice for the young hero's choice.
Behind the hand over his face, Shigaraki rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Before, I was ready to kill this 'Yo Joe' on the spot…but now I'd like to have a word with him. If he rubs me the wrong way, he's done for. As simple as that," Shigaraki retorted dismissively. "And we'll kill the rest of that 101-A class while we're at it too."
Stain's expression darkened into a look of contempt. "Is that all? You aim to destroy what displeases you? That's hardly a mission; it's the tantrum of a petulant child."
Shigaraki's grip tightened on the counter, his nails threatening to leave indentations in the wood. "Excuse me?" he snapped, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice.
Stain shook his head, his disappointment palpable. "This meeting was a mistake. I had hoped to find a kindred spirit, but it's clear now you're solely bent on chaos. Without a righteous cause, your actions are meaningless—mere anarchy." With a deliberate motion, he touched the hilts of his knives, a silent threat. "I won't allow your corruption to spread further."
Standing abruptly, Shigaraki's demeanor darkened. "Oh, so you're on some moral high ground?" he challenged, disdain dripping from every syllable.
From the corner, Kurogiri exchanged wary glances with the computer screen. "Should I intervene, Supreme One? Our hopes for Stain guiding Tomura seem futile."
"No, let them be," came the reply from the unseen observer. "Tomura must carve his own path. This confrontation will be pivotal for his evolution."
Shigaraki bristled at the thought of another 'lesson.' He despised being treated as a pupil in need of guidance. Yet before he could protest, Stain acted, his movements a blur of precision and intent.
In one fluid motion, he slashed at Kurogiri, then turned his aggression towards Shigaraki, driving the blade into Shigaraki's shoulder. Pinning him into the floor, Stain quickly brought the right knife across his face, licking the blade as he did before he moved it to rest ominously against Shigaraki's neck.
"Dammit, Kurogiri, do something!" Shigaraki demanded, panic lacing his voice as he found himself at Stain's mercy.
Kurogiri, immobilized and voice strained, could only manage a weak, "I... I'm incapacitated. It's his Quirk."
Shigaraki's frustration boiled over. "This is f**king bulls**t!"
Peering down, Stain's gaze was cold, devoid of any empathy. "You and your ilk have diluted the essence of what it means to be a 'villain,' just as the 'heroes' of this era are but shadows of their former selves. You're all fodder, destined for obliteration."
Shigaraki, incensed, managed to grasp Stain's blade, his touch causing it to decay. "A creed? A symbol? Such antiquated ideals have no place in my world. The current society, with its misplaced admiration for figures like All Might, is what I seek to annihilate."
As the blade disintegrated, Stain retreated, evading Shigaraki's retaliatory strike. "I see," he mused, reassessing his stance. "Perhaps there's a semblance of a principle in your chaos after all."
Shigaraki, still seething, failed to conceal his confusion. Stain's unexpected acknowledgment did little to quell his anger, especially after being subjected to such a brutal test.
Kurogiri, recovering his faculties, interjected, "Does this mean you'll consider joining us?"
Shigaraki's glare intensified. "This alliance is repugnant to me."
Yet, the possibility of strengthening their ranks was undeniable. "It seems we've reached an accord, despite the...unpleasantness," Kurogiri concluded.
Stain's departure was swift, his final words leaving a lingering tension. "I'll be watching, child. Your path from here is yours to forge."
As Kurogiri vanished with Stain, Shigaraki was left to stew in his own turmoil, the encounter leaving a bitter taste of both potential and disdain.
Following Kurogiri and Stain's departure, Shigaraki grimaced, shifting uncomfortably back in his seat to find a momentary escape from the throbbing fresh wound in his shoulder. The silence that enveloped the room was suddenly broken by the distinct, resonating voice of All For One, offering a semblance of comfort and authority through the concealed speakers.
"Tomura, do not let this setback dishearten you. Every great leader faces trials that forge their resolve and hone their strength."
Shigaraki, with a strained voice tinged with frustration yet acknowledging the wisdom in his mentor's words, responded, "I understand, Master. It's just... aggravating. To be so close and yet thwarted by someone like him..."
"Patience, Tomura. Your injuries are but temporary obstacles. I will see to it that they are treated soon. Remember, the path to true power is laden with hardships, but it is these very trials that elevate us above the rest."
Shigaraki, nodding slightly, allowed a brief moment of vulnerability to show. "Thank you, Master. I... I won't let this deter me. I'll grow from it, as you say."
"That's the spirit. Have Kurogiri bandage that shoulder and rest. We have much to plan for."
With those words, the line went silent, leaving Shigaraki to ponder in the quiet, his resolve solidifying amidst the echoes of his master's assurance and the promise of vengeance and growth that lay ahead.
The creak of the door broke the silence, drawing Shigaraki's wary attention to a newcomer. The man, a foreigner with a distinct aura, entered the dimly lit bar, his presence igniting Shigaraki's curiosity and suspicion. "What do you want here?" Shigaraki demanded, his tone laced with hostility.
"Just looking to wet my whistle," the stranger responded in fluent Japanese, his voice rough and carrying a note of weariness. His gaze swept across the nearly empty bar, a smirk playing on his lips as he detected the faint, unmistakable scent of blood—a scent that seemed all too familiar to him.
'Must've been a scuffle here,' Logan deduced.
Kurogiri then materialized behind the counter in a swirl of dark mist, much to Logan's moderate surprise. When Kurogiri noticed the newcomer, he inquired, "Tomura, who is this?"
"I dunno. He just walked in a few seconds ago."
Logan, mildly exhausted by the long bike ride, wearily replied, "I'm just here for a drink. Not looking for trouble."
Shigaraki's discomfort was palpable as he eyed the foreigner, his instinct telling him to eject the stranger from their midst. However, before he could voice his demand, Kurogiri leaned closer. "Despite our... unique clientele, we still present ourselves as a bar to the outside world. It would be imprudent to refuse service, especially on such an uneventful evening," he murmured, his voice as serene as the mist that swirled around him.
With a look of annoyance marring his features, Shigaraki relented, albeit reluctantly. "Alright, but make it fast," he muttered, his sharp gaze shifting away, a clear end to the matter in his eyes.
Logan, unable to hide a grin, had caught every word thanks to his acute senses. 'So, a villain's hideout masquerading as a bar,' he mused silently, amused by the notion.
Acknowledging Logan's presence with a courteous tilt of his head, Kurogiri set about crafting a beverage, his movements graceful and deliberate. "And what shall I get for you?" he asked, the ambient mist lending an ethereal quality to the mundane task of serving a drink.
Exhaling a tired breath, Logan settled into his seat, grateful for the semblance of normalcy. "A whiskey, neat," he answered, his brief eye contact with Kurogiri conveying his appreciation for the gesture of goodwill.
Moments later, after receiving his whiskey and enjoying a long sip, Logan's sharp eyes couldn't help but notice the wound marring Shigaraki's shoulder. "You've been roughed up a bit, huh?" he remarked casually, breaking the tense silence.
Shigaraki, irked by the unsolicited observation, shot back, "Mind your own business."
However, Logan's interest wasn't easily dissuaded by hostility. Before he could make any further comment, Kurogiri gracefully stepped in, aiming to smooth over the budding friction. "It's been a challenging day for him," Kurogiri offered, his tone calm and untroubled.
Logan let out a low chuckle, nodding. "I can tell," he said, amusement coloring his tone.
The conversation took a lighter turn as Kurogiri complimented, "Your Japanese is quite impressive."
"Thanks," Logan replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "Japan's practically a second home to me."
Intrigued, Kurogiri inquired further, "What brings you to this part of town, if I may ask?"
"Just passing through," Logan answered, his voice gruff. "I tend to steer clear of the more crowded places. This... this is more my speed."
Kurogiri's curiosity was evident, a flicker of thoughtfulness crossing his features. "Ah, I see," he mused, considering the implications of Logan's preference for the shadows.
Shigaraki, growing impatient with the exchange, interjected with a note of command in his voice. "Enough with the chit-chat, Kurogiri. Just fix me up."
With a nod, Kurogiri efficiently retrieved a first-aid kit, his actions fluid and practiced. Logan watched with interest as Kurogiri tended to the wound as a silent observer.
After the makeshift treatment, Logan advised, "That wound needs proper care, bub. Stab wounds can be nasty."
Kurogiri acknowledged the concern but assured, "We have our ways of dealing with such injuries." Then, pausing, he added with a hint of suspicion, "And how did you deduce it was a stab wound?"
"Lucky guess," Logan said, his tone noncommittal but knowing.
Impatience growing, Shigaraki pressed, "Are you done?" His tolerance for the stranger thinning rapidly. "We're about to close soon."
Logan, sensing the rising hostility, couldn't resist a jab, "You like this with all your customers? No wonder you got stabbed."
That was the last straw for Shigaraki, who leaped to his feet, intent on confronting Logan directly. "Bastard!"
"Tomura!" Kurogiri's attempt to calm the situation fell on deaf ears.
"I think you've overstayed your welcome, gaijin," Shigaraki hissed, moving threateningly closer.
But Logan, ever alert, sensed the imminent danger.
SNIKT!
Three metallic claws suddenly sprung from his left fist, intercepting Shigaraki's reach. Locking eyes with Shigaraki, Logan issued a stern warning, "Easy there, bub. Wouldn't want to add to your troubles."
The tension in the air spiked, a clear line drawn between the two as Logan stood ready, his posture a clear warning.
Shigaraki's confidence didn't waver from the warning as a twisted grin crossed his face. "That's the thing, my troubles always have a way of…falling apart."
He moved to touch one of Logan's extended blades, fully expecting his Quirk to do its work and reduce it to nothing.
…
…
But, to his and Kurogiri's astonishment, nothing happened. The blade remained, unaltered and menacing.
Shigaraki's shock was palpable. "What the–?!" he began, but his exclamation was abruptly silenced as Logan's boot connected with his abdomen, sending him crashing to the ground with a thud.
Logan placed his glass back on the counter, eyeing the pained Shigaraki on the floor. 'Something about his touch...felt like death,' Logan mused internally, puzzled but unscathed.
"Tomura!" Kurogiri rushed to his leader's aid, worry lacing his voice.
Shigaraki, struggling to comprehend the failure of his Quirk, stared up at Logan, disbelief and anger swirling in his gaze. "Why didn't you decay?!"
Logan, unfazed by the tension, simply replied, "I'm built of sturdy stuff."
Shigaraki snarled. "You f**king piece of–"
Sensing the situation escalating, Kurogiri stepped in with a firm voice, "I must ask you to leave now, sir."
"Fine." With a grunt of acknowledgment, Logan withdrew his blades and rose to his feet, ready to depart the contentious scene. However, a glimpse of something on the floor caught his attention, prompting him to pause. He stooped to pick up a fallen photograph, and upon seeing its content, a look of recognition crossed his face.
'No way...' he thought, taken aback by the discovery.
Meanwhile, Shigaraki, still grappling with the unexpected failure of his Quirk, muttered under his breath, "This shouldn't be happening... My Quirk never fails..." His thoughts drifted to a previous encounter, one that had left a similar impression of frustration and disbelief. "Just like that green-haired bastard... His damn shield was immune too! How is that possible?!"
Logan's ears perked up at the mention of a shield and green hair, and his interest in the conversation deepened. Turning on his heel, he approached Shigaraki, holding the photograph of Midoriya up for him to see. "You're after this guy?" he inquired, a hint of curiosity in his tone.
Shigaraki's response was terse and hostile. "What's it to you gaijin?"
A dry chuckle escaped Logan as he considered the situation. "Looks like I've walked into quite the story," he mused.
Kurogiri, observing the exchange, eyed Logan with a wary gaze. "And who might you be?" His tone was cautious, the underlying suspicion clear.
Logan leaned slightly forward, his gaze never wavering from the photograph he held. "The name's Logan. And coincidentally," he gestured with the photo of Midoriya, "I've been trying to track down this fellow myself."
Shigaraki, feeling the sting of his injuries lessening, shot a skeptical look towards Logan. "And why's that?" he prodded, his curiosity piqued despite himself.
With a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, Logan's demeanor shifted subtly, signaling the seriousness of his intent.
SNIKT!
His right hand clenched, and in response, three gleaming metallic blades emerged with a definitive sound, catching the dim light of the bar. "Let's just say I've got a few things to discuss with Mister Midoriya. And if I don't like his answers, well... he won't be around to give any more," Logan declared, his voice low and menacing.
Shigaraki, assessing Logan's resolve and sensing a potential ally in their shared animosity towards Midoriya, allowed a sinister smile to creep across his face. "Perhaps we started off on the wrong foot. Kurogiri, why don't you fix our guest another drink? On the house."
Logan retracted his claws, grinning, "Now you're speaking my language, bub."