Chapter Text
‘ What makes a hero? ’
That was a question that entered young Izuku’s mind as he flung a criminal into a stack of crates. The sound of splintering wood, shattering glass, creaking metal, and breaking bones filled the air of the warehouse.
It’s a rather simple question. All that mattered is who you asked. The average person would say that heroes are the best thing to happen in society, that without them, the world would be an unhealable wasteland.
Speaking of incurable wastelands, Izuku dodged out of the way of a stream of radioactive sludge. The concrete ground sizzled and melted as it ate its way through it. A pillar of jet black crystal shot out of the ground, slamming into the toxic fellow and sending him across the room, groaning in pain.
But if you were to ask those that fell through the cracks? Someone who has been failed by society? They would say that the only reason why we have villains nowadays is because of heroes, and the society that’s dependent on them.
Izuku threw a knife at a light above him, causing it to fall and crash into the thug that was charging at him. The blade the bald bastard was wielding clattered to the ground, metallic tings reverberating off the metal walls of the building.
And as for villains?
Most of society treats them as insane individuals who chose their current path. They are treated as if their vermin that should be eradicated. But most criminals didn’t have a choice, or they did, and this was the best bet. Either way, the blame shouldn’t fall on their shoulders.
The concrete ground cracked and shattered as Izuku slammed the head of one of the crooks into the stone-cold material. Izuku then felt the air shift as he bent backwards, narrowly avoiding the knife that was sent his way. The thin blade embedded itself into one of the support pillars scattered around the place.
Most of them just wanted to feed their families, or trying to sate the needs set upon them by their very quirk. This was mostly found in blood-based quirks, for they required the occasional intake of blood. Hell, even one of Izuku’s current quirks, Spider, requires him to either consume human flesh or, more preferably for Izuku, blood.
Flicking his wrist, Izuku sent out a strand of webbing, with it hitting the knife-throwing quirk user in the chest. Twirling his body, he hurled the criminal into a crook that was starting to get back up, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
And as for the in-between? The vigilantes?
This is one only where the majority of people don’t know what to think. On one hand, they do hero work without a license, which mind you, is illegal. But on the other hand, they do hero work, and in some cases, they’re a better hero than some heroes themselves.
Quickly shooting his hand out, the clawed appendage tightly wrapped itself around the last thug’s neck. Squeezing harshly, the pointy fingers dug in enough to where it started to draw blood. “So, mind telling me where you got this… poison ?” Izuku asked, his voice modulated by the slim, jet-black gas mask that covered his nose, mouth, and jawline. His eyes were still visible, the sharp toxic green stared into the purple eyes of the squad-based villain in front of him.
And what did Izuku consider himself? Simple, a passerby, who happened to be in the right place, at the right time. He didn’t consider himself a hero, especially after what he's done, but he isn’t bad enough to where he could be considered a villain. In the eyes of the law, he’s a criminal, and that's good enough to treat him with hatred and contempt.
“I ain’t talkin’, got it? Nothing you do will make me say anything!” ‘ Oh sweet Jesus, this guy has guts, I’ll give him that ’ Izuku sighed, obviously displeased, with this futile defiance.
Tossing him up into the air, he caught the crook by his leg. Twirling his body around, he slammed him into the ground below. Cracks spider webbing out from the point of impact. A rather audible grunt of pain escaped the lips of the thug, and a trickle of blood started to flow out of his mouth.
Placing one of his clawed feet onto the chest of the thugs, he pressed down. “Listen, kid, the one I don’t like in this world is people who don’t cooperate, I mean, who does?” Amusement filled his voice, yet his eyes were stone cold, lacking any warmth. The goon simply glared back.
Before any more pressure could be added, however, he was interrupted. “That’s far enough, Shatter.” Izuku sighed, annoyed at the fact that he was being interrupted. Turning around, Izuku came face to face with his biggest frenemy in existence, Eraserhead.
Or, his civilian name, Shouta Aizawa. He was known at various police stations for being the one who handles troublesome vigilantes. He wore a plain jet black jumpsuit, yellow goggles with rather sizable slits, and his signature capture scarf. He also happened to be Izuku’s biggest pain in the ass.
Gripping hold of his capture scarf, Aizawa glared at Izuku. Not that Izuku cared, or noticed. “Listen, my reluctant friend, I’m not exactly in the mood to go toe to toe with another pro at that moment, I mean, Endeavor was, is actually, one to many. Besides, I think what I’m working on is a bit more important than the little old me.”
Flicking his wrist, a strand of condensed webbing shot out, sticking itself onto a nearby crate. Aizawa tensed at the action, preparing for what he thought was an inevitable fight. With a sharp tug, the side of the wooden crate was pulled off. Wood shards and splinters scattered across the area alongside vials of… ‘trigger? ’
Stepping to the side of the crate, Izuku bent down -which was an odd sight considering how freakishly tall he is- and picked up a vial of the cursed drug. Examining the vial, he spoke, “Trigger, a drug that is known everywhere yet can be found nowhere, until now, that is. And considering that insignia-,” he then gestured towards another crate, where what appeared to be an angel with a cracked halo and broken wings is printed on the side of it. “-Is a bit different than the other big groups, meaning we have a new contender in the ring.”
He then tossed the vial to Aizawa, who caught it and looked at it as well. While the pro was preoccupied with the vial, Izuku walked over to the crook from before, who was trying to slowly crawl away. Grabbing him by the neck with one of his clawed feet -or at least what counted as feet-, he pressed the thug into the ground. “Now tell me you walking excuse of a human, where do you get this?” The thug sputtered out what sounded like a choked-out ‘fuck you' , and at that point, Izuku had decided he had enough.
Lifting him into the air, Izuku slammed him back down, causing the crook to a) cough up a bit of blood, b) release a strangled groan, and c) his eyes widen as he looked at Izuku, his face seemed to scream sadistic pleasure. Aizawa’s eyes shot up and he heard the crash, his mind no longer occupied with the current issue of another group producing and shipping out trigger.
“Now tell me, where the hell did you get this poisonous bullshit .”
“Shatter, that is enough!”
Izuku looked up at that. He had genuinely forgotten that he wasn’t alone. ‘Stupid, ’ he berated himself, ‘Father trained me better than this. ’ Looking over his shoulder, he had just enough time to narrowly avoid the custom-made capture scarf. Flipping to the side Izuku ducked behind a crate, just long enough to break line of sight with Eraserhead, not that he was under that hero's quirk, nope, he’s immune to it. The moment of quiet was all he needed to jimmy open a window and slip through it. Sealing the door behind him with crystals, he began to take his leave.
The wind blew past his hair as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop.
“GOODBYE AND GOOD RIDDANCE YOU DISHEVELED FUCK!”
(-----)
By the time Aizawa managed to make it over to where Shatter went, he saw that the window was sealed shut, so no chance of following him, and the card. It was Shatter’s signature calling card, literally, in this case. It was made of pure crystal, and it was the two of spades. Over time it had been deduced that the number on the cart left behind was an indicator of the crime being committed at the scene. It went from kings to aces. Kings are simple crimes that don’t require much intervention or aren’t that important. Aces, however, have only been used once.
It was an interesting day that day. That was the day Shatter first showed up. The leader of an international crime syndicate had shown up on their doorstep. A binder of evidence was stapled to the guy’s chest and embedded in his arm, was a card, or more accurately, an ace of spades. He was mumbling the word Shatter, over and over again, which is how the vigilante got his name.
Sighing, he grabbed the card and yanked it out of the crate. It shined heavily in the light, edges as sharp as ever. He muttered a soft ‘God Damnit’ to himself as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
Dialling the number of a certain detective, he resigned himself to another night of mind-bogglingly boring paperwork. His phone rang twice before it was answered. “What is it now Aizawa?” A voice asked from the other end. This happened to belong to one of the few people who were aware of Eraserhead’s existence, Tsukauchi Naomasa.
“I had another run-in with Shatter.”
“Really, well I guess it’s another night of paperwork I assume?”
“Yes, but this isn’t just another small gang or new villain, there’s another gang producing Trigger, and considering how much is in this warehouse alone, they can produce large quantities of it in a relatively short amount of time.”
“This isn't good is it?”
“Nope, but on the bright side, it seems Shatter is also trying to take down these guys as well. So at least there’s that.”
(-----)
The sound of a ringing bell filled that air as the wooden door was pushed open. No noise was made as clawed feet stridden across the room. The bar was empty as Izuku’s heart, only two other people occupied the building. He walked over and had taken a seat next to one of the people. He looked up to see his old friends Shigaraki Tomura, and Kurogiri. The former being the one he was sitting next to, and the latter being the bartender.
The lights of the bar shone upon Izuku’s form, revealing the outfit he had chosen specifically for his… occupation. It was a rather simple outfit really, a dark green turtleneck sweater covered by an unbuttoned, jet black lab coat. Pant-wise, he was wearing jet black cargo pants. He didn’t wear any shoes or gloves, mainly due to it limiting his power when it came to fighting.
“Tough night shrimp?” asked Tomura. Izuku merely groaned in annoyance, for his day was… subpar to say the least.
He then let out a dry chuckle, “You don’t know half of it.” Tomura then looked up from the game he was playing, and said, “Enlighten me.”
Izuku was silent for a moment, thinking about how to say it. He decided the direct approach would be best. “There’s a new group rearing their heads, so far as I know they produce mainly trigger.” Both of the other men shudder at the mention of the drug, for they have faced off against individuals who were boosted by the stuff. It was... difficult, to say the least.
“Did you manage to acquire the name of this group?” inquired Kurogiri, one of his shining yellow eyes rising, mimicking that of a cocked eyebrow.
“Unfortunately, no. I was about to, but I was stopped at the last minute.”
“Who?”
A weary sigh escaped the boy's lips, “Eraserhead.”
Shigaraki facepalmed, a quiet groan escaping his lips. “Of course, the hero that’s been assigned to your case. He does have a habit of popping up when it’s least convenient for everyone else .”
“Well, at least he’s doing his job, unlike some heroes.”
“Amen to that!”