Fractured Wings

The fog around the docks was thick, rolling over the water like an unseen monster, swallowing anything in it's path. I stood on a high point near the warehouses, my shoes were steady on the cold concrete. 

A big 16 wheeler rolled into the bay and parked leaving it's engine on. I'd seen the guards, I'd also seen their sloppy postures, the way they never truly scanned their surroundings. That kind of complacency only came after doing the same monotonous drivel everyday. It was hard to shame. 

I waited, watching the unloading process through a pair of binoculars I had made with paper while I crouched atop a container obscured by the smoke. 

The men were careful as they pulled in boxes from a containment ship, it was almost ritualistic. I noticed a lack of chatter that I had almost come to expect. 

The leader of this operation was a tall man, with a jagged scar across his left cheek. He spoke in clipped sentences, directing the unloading process with a harsh voice. His crew moved like clockwork. 

"Alright." 

I brought my binoculars down and clapped my hands, once they separated again, paper formed and it had taken the shape of a small bird. It's wings were barely fluttering as it took flight and hovered above the scene. 

The truck rumbled away after the last crate was loaded. The shipment was moving into the city. 

"Time to move." 

I jumped high and on my back paper wings formed and I soared high in the sky, above the clouds. The smaller bird I created was keeping track while I stayed high up to avoid potentially being seen. You could never be too cautious. 

We arrived at an unassuming building nestled behind a few warehouses. The place was almost invisible, tucked away from the street like a secret. Two guards stood at the entrance, one of them yawning, the other checking his watch. They barely glanced at the truck, only signalling for it to pass through the narrow gates. 

I couldn't see inside, but the setup was easy enough to decipher. They were using the same quiet entry method to move the goods inside. That meant one thing: The contents weren't just valuable, they were dangerous. 

As the truck entered, I moved closer to the buildings side. There was a window just high enough for me to peer through. I caught a glimpse of the warehouse floor, rows of crates stacked neatly in the back. A few men stood around speaking in hushed tones. 

"Move it by morning, the boss is expecting a full inventory." One of them muttered. Another man, heavier and older, laughed. 

"Yeah well, there better be a good excuse if it's late again." 

I slipped in through a side door, never making a sound. I could hear men's voices in the distance, but they were too far to make anything out clearly. Moving with precision, I scanned the room. There were documents stacked near the back, scattered across a desk. 

I decided to form a piece of paper in my hand and manipulated it's size into a razor-sharp, thin, sheet and sent it flying across the room. It hovered silently over the papers, copying every word, every detail dented itself onto the sheet. 

Within seconds, I had everything. Shipment details, code words, names of people higher up in the operation too. And one name stood out clearly—Kai Chisaki. That was the yakuza boss known as Overhaul. 

With the documents in hand I made my way over to the exit as the men continued their chatter. I had to move quickly now. There was too much information to process, and it was only a matter of time before they realized someone was poking around in their business. 

___ 

I found my way back into the same small three star hotel room I had spent the previous night in. I realized that I was not alone, in fact it was that same dealer who was here with me. I couldn't find anywhere to stuff him so I thought it best to just keep him tied up in this hotel room. 

Since he wouldn't stop mumbling I had to knock him out again and put him in the bathroom. He was stripped down to his underwear and only fed when necessary. Other than that he was kept tied up, since he was in the bathroom he could use it when he needed and struggle all day for all I care. 

The room was simple, nothing special. The sheets were clean at least, but the bed was not as comfortable as the one's in the orphanage. But I shouldn't be complaining since I didn't even pay to get in. 

I had set the documents out onto a desk and pulled out a pen tracing over all the outlines to make sense of it all. 

The first page detailed logistics of Trigger distribution, the routes and names I already knew. But then there was something new, something different. An experimental compound being mixed into Trigger. It was a drug called Delirium, a substance designed to amplify the effects of trigger, 

"That already sounds bad." Amplifying a drug meant to amplify quirks. That just sounds stupid. 

But then I understood why people continued taking it. Delirium was like a second wind for whoever took it, strength, speed, agility, each hit felt like the body was on fire, a pure high that coursed through the veins like an electric jolt. And as the users body adapted they craved more. 

It didn't take long for consequences to follow. Physical deterioration. Hallucinations. Loss of motor control. And eventually, an overwhelming sense of paranoia and rage. Users who overdosed would die by every blood vessel in the body bursting. And then the heart. 

That reminded me of the conversation at the fight club, "That's probably what they meant by popping like a balloon." 

And then the next part. Something even worse as I read on. A small notation in the corner of a page caught my attention—Serum X. It was listed alongside Trigger and Delirium in a complex formula. I skimmed the page further, piecing together what was there. Serum X was designed to temporarily erase a person's quirk. 

The finished product came in the design of a bullet, meant to be injected into the bloodstream, gaining access to the quirk factor and then destroying it. But it would only last for a day, 36 hours at most. 

"I find it hard to believe they would want to stop it there." 

After thinking on it, I began to weigh my options here. This seemed like a very dangerous endeavour, "I should probably bring this to the heroes." 

That's what anybody else in my position would do isn't it? 

But nobody else is me. 

Nobody else has the same indifference or distrust in the heroes like I do. Nobody has the capabilities that I have. 

"And where else do I go but forward!" 

The documents had more references, of human blood, the compounds were mixed in a way that suggested it wasn't just any blood. There was a connection between the serum and the rare blood trait. Or quirk? But why? 

I frowned, scanning the lines for anything that explained it, but the details were scarce. The implications were there. The need for this blood, possibly the blood of a person with a strong or unique quirk. It wasn't just a side-effect of the drug it was a key ingredient for the bullet. 

I felt my pulse quicken as I processed the information. Overhaul was mixing Delirium with Trigger to enhance quirks, but he was also creating a bullet that would erase them. Sounded like a nightmare. 

"I wonder what his quirk is?" Or maybe it's the quirk of someone around him that makes it all possible. 

I looked over the documents one more time, taking mental notes of every name, every location, every hint that would lead me to understanding what Overhaul was really doing. 

I seem to be dealing with a very dark and troubling crime syndicate here. 

___

I stood in the ring with a plain white mask on made from paper, my opponent stalking towards me, his arms like slabs of granite. His quirk was simple, hardening his skin to stone. Intimidating to an average person, but predictable. Each moved telegraphed before he even made them. 

'This is the third match Aya had set me up with. I kept her number but I didn't think I would really need it after she lead me to Kyushu. She's been raking in on her 70% cut, feeding me to whoever was down to fight me over here. A parasite in heels she is, but she's good at what she does.' 

The brute charged at me, his stone covered fists slamming the air where my head had been a second ago. I ducked, pivoting smoothly to his blind spot. The crowd erupted at the near miss, but I was already watching out for his next move. He wasn't slow, but his quirk made him overconfident. 

I shaped a sheet of paper from my wrist into a thin, gleaming blade. With a flick of my hand, it arced toward his shoulder, cutting through the gap in his stone like armour. He roared in pain, swinging wildly. 

'Fights like these weren't about the brute strength, it was control, control of perception and everything that comes next. Just like my little grievances against the Shie Hassaiki. A shipment lost in the sea here, a warehouse scorched there. Nothing too loud, nothing that can be traced to me. It had been going on for the last week now. It should be enough to rattle them and force them to act.' 

The brute stumbled, his balance faltering as I swept his legs out from under him. Before he could hit the ground, I reshaped the blade into a cord, binding his arms behind his back. He collapsed face first onto the mat, struggling against the bonds as the referee stepped in declaring my victory. 

Yeah, this fighting ring was a little different, a lot more organized. 

The roar of the crowd was the same though, deafening. But that wasn't what had caught my attention, it was the silence. The room shifted, a ripple of unease spreading throughout the spectators as the crowd parted like Moses had just walked through. 

A man stepped through, hands in his pockets, he wore an impeccable dress shirt and tie despite the grimy venue. The plague doctors mask over his face was unmistakeable. Overhaul. 

'Well shit.' 

He stopped at the edge of the ring, his head tilting slightly as he regarded me. The crowds whisper's reached a fever pitch, but no one dared to step closer. 

"You!" he said in a voice that was calm and commanding. "Do you want to fight me?" 

I hesitated, my mind racing. 'Of course not you maniac.' But I didn't say that. Although I didn't know what his quirk was, judging from the crowd and overall atmosphere I expected it to be dangerous. 

"No," I replied, keeping my voice even. "I don't." 

Overhaul nodded once, almost approvingly. "Then follow me." He gestured for me to follow then turned around and walked waiting for me to follow his trail. 

I looked at the crowd to gauge their reactions. They parted even further, their fear of him palpable. 'This is, the moment I've been waiting for.' I stepped out of the ring, adjusting the simple mask I'd crafted from my quirk. It hid my expression, but my mind was sharp. 

___

We arrived at a sleek black car outside the venue. Overhaul opened the door, gesturing for me to get in without a word. 

The ride to the base was silent, the tension so thick I could cut it with a paper knife, one made by me of course. Overhaul didn't speak and neither did I. The silence felt heavy, as though every word held weight, every glance held meaning. 

Beside Overhaul, a man sat stiffly. His presence was cold, unsettling. I hadn't seen him before, something about him screamed authority. 'Ah wait.' I think that's Shin Nemoto. 

His thin angular face was expressionless, but his eyes. dark and sharp seemed to pierce through me, the distrust couldn't be hidden by the glasses that framed them. His hair was black and slicked back which added to the clinical look he had. His aura was all-encompassing. 

The cars tires hummed softly as we drove through the dark, winding streets. The base, I knew was not a place anyone would go willingly. It was a fortress. It was his home. 

We arrived, Overhaul led the way through sterile hallways. My mask remained intact, hiding my face, but my mind was already working, calculating ways to escape if it came down to it. There was no way I could let my guard down in front of the head of operation. 

Inside a small and dimly lit room, Overhaul took a seat at the head of a cold metal table. Nemoto stood at attention beside him, his presence intimidating without uttering a single word. 

I was sat on the opposite end but I was told to stand close enough, close enough to where they could both reach me. 

"You're a dangerous one." Overhaul said, his voice low and controlled. "Not the type to get noticed easily, and yet... here you are." 

I didn't respond. What was there to say to that? To someone who sounded so ready to kill at a moments notice. 

"What's your real name?" He asked, 

I hesitated for a moment, there was no way I was giving my real name. So a fake would do. 

"Kenta Hayakawa." The sound of leather creaking felt louder than it should have in the silence of the room. 

"You're real name?" Shin Nemoto's voice rung out, his expressionless face held a lot more contempt within it. 

I felt the air around me shift, a subtle but unmistakeable pressure. His quirk. A compulsion crept in. While a guinea pig at Eden I was made to train to resist mind altering powers. So even though this one was incredibly strong, there was always the chance of me fighting it off. 

But I didn't want to give that away if it were to be found out. Plus resisting once would only make it harder for me to do so again. "Kobe Arakawa." I let it slip out of me. 

Overhail tilted his head slightly, studying me with renewed interest. "Arakawa," he repeated, his tone pensive. 

"Who's pulling your strings?" 

"I'm not working for anyone." My voice didn't waver. 

"Then tell me Kobe," Overhaul said, his tone colder, "Do you have any previous affiliations? Work for anyone? Law enforcement, maybe the Heroes?" 

My throat tightened, truthfully I still have a sister in a hero school, and previous affiliation could very well be the Eden Project. But I trusted in what would come out, there was pain in my throat though, lying was like second nature, it being deprived from me didn't feel right. 

"I'm not affiliated with law enforcement and I got no love for heroes." 

Overhaul pressed further. "Aspirations? You must have something you want. What's your goal?" 

Now, that question hit harder than the rest. Goals. I had none, I think I wanted to be a hero when I was younger, but it was no great aspiration. And I was almost fully put off by it after being sent to be a part of that stupid project. 

They didn't instill any goals in me other than working towards being a hero. Now that I didn't go down that path. There was nothing. 

"Answer!" 

"I don't have any."