"Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen. Our top story tonight remains the ongoing and deeply troubling mystery that has gripped Dolos city. For two months now, a shadow has fallen over our community as the number of innocent citizens that have been reported missing continues to rise, with law enforcement seemingly no closer to an answer."
The graphic appears behind them, listing all the names and faces of the missing. Dozens of them. Just ordinary people from all walks of life.
"The investigation, once a top priority, has now officially been classified as cold. Despite the best efforts of our dedicated law enforcement and pro-hero units, no substantial leads or motives have been established, leaving families in agonizing limbo. Prime Minister of Dolos City, Snake Lavender, had this to say."
The screen cuts to a pre recorded footage. Prime Minister Snake Lavender takes the podium. He is the picture of compassionate authority—well-dressed, calm, his voice a soothing, resonant baritone.
"To the people of Dolos, and especially to the families enduring this unimaginable pain, please know this: we hear you. We are doing the very best we can with the resources at our disposal. Our law enforcement and hero agencies are tirelessly following every potential lead, no matter how small they are. We must have faith in their process. We must remain vigilant, and, above all, we must remain hopeful that our loved ones will be returned to us safely."
The footage freezes on Snake Lavenders empathetic concern expression on his face.
"Such strong words of reassurance from our dear Prime Minister Lavender, who has personally taken a keen interest in this case."
"Indeed. But for many, words are beginning to ring hallow as the silence stretches on. The material they have to work with, as the prime minister stated, appears to be frustratingly thin. The question on everyone's mind: who, or what, Is behind this? And can we truly be safe until they are found?"
A silent, slow, grave nod.
"A sentiment felt across the city. We can only wait, and hope, as the Prime Minister said, that something good comes from the darkness."
There is a pause for a moment, the weight of the statement hangs in the air.
"In other news, the annual—
The screen cuts to black. The low, electric hum of the city and the rhythmic, and purposeful sound of footsteps.
Izuku Midoriya, walks with steady, unwavering pace. A duffel bag is slung over his shoulders, and his UA I.D card is clipped to the strip of his backpack, identifying him as the hero known as Deku.
He passes under a street lamp, and the lights shines onto the notebook on his hands. His grip on the notebook tightens almost imperceptibly. He isn't just walking; he's cutting through the atmosphere of fear that has settled over the city like a fog.
He takes a slow, deep breath, not of hesitation, but of focus. The kind of focus that comes from a mission that means something.
A small, almost imperceptible spark of green lightning crackles across his knuckles before fading. His expression hardens from determination into something sharper, more driven.
"Two months. No leads. A city living in fear. They're calling it a cold case. They say to wait and hope."
He opens up his notebook, pages filled with notes: profiles of the missing, maps of the city, and a single, underlined question: PATTERN?
He adjust the bag on his shoulders. His gaze sweeps over the city once more, not as a visitor, but as a hunter. A final, resolute whistle escapes his lips, carried by the city's wind.
"Okay. Let's do this."
He steps forward, melting into the flow of the crowd, a hero walking directly into the heart of the mystery.