5 (Don't) Fear the Reaper

If one was to head outside Hosu Ward and move through a couple of fairly busy streets, chances are that they would hear a ruckus unusual for any place that is not a nightclub. Should their curiosity be further temped and proceed to take a look around a small bend in said street, they would be greeted by a sight that would look like it belonged in an old-style cheesy detective movie. Well, maybe not old-style, since the neon signs were a little more…extravagant, but the establishment before them would fit that definition to a T; trails of smoke coming out the windows, raucous laughter, and the occasional sound of glass breaking.

A bit too glaring, even in this day and age, but the Nine Rings bar was nevertheless a popular hangout, at least by its type of patrons.

One such patron, a Mr. Reikawa was bobbing his head to the beat of the music, an empty glass in his hands. His eyes scoured the illuminated bar floor for any potential girls he could impress and possibly take home for the night, but so far all the good ones were taken. He spotted a few loners beforehand, but they were either the type that would require a few more drinks to get up and ready or the type that would kick in his balls. That or their boyfriends would.

Sure, he wasn't the best-looking guy around, but with the amount of booze that was flowing here, there should be at least one, no?

Ah, to hell with it. Girls or no, he needed this, after what happened back at the base. For a moment he thought he was going to die. It was just his second glass, and he the only thing he felt were his feet tapping…maybe a little numb…ah, to hell with it. Third time's the charm, after all.

He tried to call for the barman to pour him another shot (vodka of course. Sake never really tickled his fancy) when he heard something squeak behind him. "Tough luck getting any?"

Reikawa turned to see that some guy wearing a black hoodie decided to make himself comfortable in the stool next to him. He scoffed. Must be some newblood kid one of the bosses let in and thinks he's now a hotshot.

"What's it to you kid?"

The kid hummed and raised a hand. "Hey, barkeeper! A round for this guy, on me!"

The older man leaned on the bar with a raised eyebrow. "Trying to butter me up, kid?"

"Just offering you a drink."

Reikawa snorted. "Ha! Can't say no to that, now can I?"

The barkeeper came and placed a glass in front of him, which he promptly downed. Maybe a little slower…bah, a free drink was a free drink. He slammed the glass back down and lowered his head to look at the kid. His face was still turned away from him, not that he blamed him. With this kind of crowd, one had to be cautious unless you wanted to get a limb hacked off or worse.

"Haven't seen you around before, kid. Did your mommy wander off?"

"I just got in. Initiation was today so I thought I'd treat myself."

Oh, he really was a newbie. "Really? What crew?"

"Zugaikotsu-kao."

The man fiddled with his cup. "Never heard of them."

The kid shrugged. "We stay under the radar. Helps us avoid anything to do with the Heroes or the big guns."

"With a name like that?" he snorted. "Definitely."

"Hey, I didn't choose it." The kid paused and slightly turned his head. "You gonna keep that empty?"

Reikawa looked at his empty glass. "Not if you're paying. Oi, another!"

Another shot later and he started seeing polka dots. Even drinking it slowly didn't help.

"So, what did you screw up?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Me paying or not, the way you downed those drinks means you messed up big. So what was it?"

"Why should I *hic* tell you, newbie?"

The kid shrugged again. "So that I learn how not to? I wanna keep all my limbs when I make it big. That, and I paid for your booze."

"Ha! Good one, kid!" He said as he slapped the bar. "Ehh, why not? Not like I can show my face to the guys for the next week."

The conversation seemed to blur into the background. Reikawa kept it simple and tight at first, but the more he talked, the more frustrated became.

"…and then the boss told to get the fuck out before he shoved my head in a meat-grinder! It was just some stinking file, wasn't even in a *hic* drawer! How was I supposed to know it was that important!?"

"Dunno. But it does sound kind of stupid to throw away something you don't know. Maybe it was something from the government?" The kid asked, still facing away from him.

The man grumbled as he slammed his fist on the bar. "Don't really know. But the boss needed it for this…ah…deal. Said something about the…*hic*…shipment needing…ah…clearance." His swaying had become even more pronounced, feeling like he was about to keel over.

"Hmm." The kid tapped the bar. "Some of the good stuff coming in?"

Reikawa nodded wildly, drool dribbling down his chin. "Yeah…real good…stuff."

"Gonna use it for a night out?"

"Yeah *hic*, and get some more, uh…clients. It always…works. Just give them a *hic* taste, then dangle the *hic* stuff in front of 'em and they'll give…anything for it."

"You're kidding."

He shook his head, feeling the drool scatter. "Fuckin' wish. There's this *hic* bitch, she fixed. Dunno how she hasn't *whoa* whored herself out yet. Maybe it's…'cause of those brats of hers. Brats always screw with ya. But when get the new…stuff. Yeah…she'll beg for it. If she can't pay…heh, we can get fun.'

The kid stayed silent as he struggled to stay awake. Everything sounded really fuzzy. Did he really drink that much? Passing out in a place like this was not a good idea.

"Your…phone…inging." Why did the kid sound so far away? Was it the vodka again? And what was that about his phone?

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, nearly falling from the stool while trying to open it. His vision was blurry, barely able to see the glowing screen. "Damn scan…always with the fingers…"

"Let…help…" He felt someone grab his hand and place it on the screen. The kid's hoodie was visible amid the blurriness. "Where can I find your friends? I can take you there."

He shouldn't have answered. He really shouldn't have. But he felt so dizzy...maybe he needed a little help…better than sleeping here…

"Pawnshop…near Turasku…"

He barely managed to hear the "thanks" before he felt himself lying on something hard. For some reason, only one thought came to mind as his consciousness finally clouded over:

'What was up with that kid's voice?'

"Oi, could ya stop with the buzzing? You make me wanna throw something."

The lanky man tightened his jaw and gave his associate a deadpan look. "Spray some deodorant on yourself first and then I'll consider it."

He growled and took a step forward, his rocky hands curled into fists. "It's bad enough we have to wait in this fish-stinkin' port, but it's past midnight and I lost cash in that card game tonight. I'm really close to being pissed off, so unless ya want me to kill that motor you call a mouth for good, mute it."

"That's enough you two." The thugs turned to the third man in their little group, cloaked in a trench coat, who leaned on the railing on the bank. Next to him lay a briefcase. His sparrow mask hid his features, but there was no doubt to his tense expression. "You both need to manage yourselves, you with your stink" he gestured to the rock-armed thug, "and you with your Quirk," he gestured to the scarf-wearing thug. "I hate being here too, and I'd rather do something fun or go to sleep, but the fact is that the higher-ups need this deal. It'll serve as good testing grounds for some future operation."

The lanky thug quirked his eyebrow. "What kind?"

"Until we need to know, none of your business. We just have to keep these deals going." He steepled his fingers and leaned in. "Heard a little whisper from up high. We get in a few more deals, we'll move up. You two will probably be kyodai, and I'll go higher – maybe even Eight Bullets."

Rock-arm gaped. "You're kidding. You, one of the Eight? But…aren't there already Eight?"

Sparrow-mask just waved. "Probably will have to fight one of them, but it doesn't matter. We're gonna move up in the world soon, so keep your cool, let's make this deal and get out of here, ok?"

The brutish thug closed his jaw and grumbled, but nonetheless turned away. "Just jumpy. What if the cops or a Hero comes here? We ain't no assault team."

"We scouted this place, remember?" said his partner. "No Hero or cop ever comes here. They sniff out the bigger docks or the bars a few streets ahead. I don't even know if the other gangs come here."

"What about Villains?"

"They can come from any hole you can think of, who knows what they think?" he scoffed. At least the yakuza had some class. Wasn't there this guy who just decided to turn into a giant and start rampaging in public a few months ago? That was stupid and he was caught, by some new giant gal. What was the point of doing that anyway?

Minutes passed by in quiet, with the feeling of his chain-teeth vibrating his jaws or the sound of the water behind him softly rippling through the night. But as the appointed hour passed by, the yakuza gangster felt his Quirk acting up again.

"What's taking them?" his partner asked with a snarl. "Don't those idiots know how important this deal is?"

Choosing not to comment on how he previously thought the deal was a waste of time, he gave his reply despite having severe doubts about its validity "Traffic?"

"Not at this hour," spoke the masked man, his tone growing cautious. "And they were told to inform us of any delay as soon as it happened. Not only that, but I saw that video call. They needed this stuff as much as we needed the money, and they know the consequences of messing with us; them bailing out is very unlikely."

"Maybe you should call them." The leader paused for a moment and nodded, taking out a burner phone. But something wasn't right. He didn't know what, but his inner voice was screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.

The phone rang a few times before suddenly a noise tickled his ears. It wasn't very loud, but there was no mistaking it.

"Hey, do you hear that?"

The leader looked up from his phone and his partner tensed up. Five seconds later, they nodded.

Another phone's ringtone. Coming from behind one of the buildings. At the very same time they decided to call.

"Why aren't they picking up?" asked Rock-arm, voicing their collective mental query.

No one replied.

Wordlessly the leader pushed himself off the railing, picking up the briefcase. With a forward gesture he advanced, the other two promptly followed, the ringtone still faintly echoing through the night.

Step after step, the ringtone grew louder, and the scarved thug had to resist letting out a grinding screech from his mouth. He could hear his partner clenching his rocky fists, even as he fingered the hilt of his knife, strapped to his side. Stupid gun laws. He felt like something was about to seriously go wrong. This deal was starting to look like less and less worth it.

They soon reached the bend where the ringtone was the loudest. The leader's phone finally went to voicemail, snapping it shut before raising his arm to stop them. He then gestured for him to take a peek. He moved to the corner, pressed himself to the wall, and slowly leaned forward…

"Oh, fuck."

From the sharp intake of breath behind him, he knew that the leader thought the same:

There they were, three - no, four; there was one at the back - people, the gang they were assigned to sell a case of fresh drugs…

…all of them dead. Strewn on the ground, lying with glazed expressions. The dim streetlight reflected the dark liquid that marred the cement, and we would bet his life saving that it was no alcohol.

What was going on? Was someone tipped off?

A crack from behind snapped him out of his dazed. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit! I knew this was a bad idea! Comin' into this place at dark, what was the boss think-"

A slap was heard. "Keep quiet, you moron."

"…sorry. But who do you think did this? Cops? A traitor? A Hero?"

No. none of them were likely.

"No to all of them" replied the leader, voicing his thoughts. "We would have heard any fight that could've happened here. No one in their group is strong enough to take on four people, according to the intel. There was nothing on the hotline last I checked, and…"

Heroes don't kill.

"Heroes don't kill. They just don't."

That was right. Heroes never killed. They always tried to capture their targets, for multiple reasons. And if someone ended up dead when a Hero was involved, everyone would know.

"You're right though. This place is now dangerous. We'll split and head back, but first," he heard a rustle. "Grab the bags. At least we'll have something to show for our efforts."

The bags were plastic Ziplocs stuffed with wads of cash, lying next to one of the corpses. With all the new advances in hacking and encryption, sometimes cash was still king.

"What bag-oh, sweet! Payday here we come!"

"Shh!"

"Yeesh, sorry."

Rock-arm walked toward the bag while keeping his sight on the street. He arrived at the body and made a face, no doubt because of its state, yet shook it off and grabbed the bags from the ground.

"Wait," called the leader, halting him in his tracks. "What does the wound look like?"

His partner looked down and grimaced. "It's deep, real deep. Right through his lung, I think. Doesn't look like a bullet though, it actually reminds me of what you do to morons. Kind of like a-"

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a sharp whistle. He let out a sick gurgle and his eyes widened in shock. He tried to run but stumbled and started to thrash, letting the scarved yakuza and his leader see what was lodged in the back of his head.

But only for a second, because the dagger was suddenly pulled from his body and flew into the shadows of the street. Rock-arm jerked back and stood still before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed onto the pavement, face-up.

The scarved thug sharply drew his knife and finally let his saw-teeth buzz loudly. From the corner of his eye, he saw the leader flex his hands and saw the telltale signs of his Quirk activating. If the cops or Heroes were here he might've made a break for it, but now? He may not have liked his partner, but he was still part of the clan. And anyone who messed with one of the Shie Hassaikai paid with blood.

"You made a very big mistake tonight, whoever you are," the leader called out into the street. "Don't worry. I'll be sure to call the police to deliver your head to your family."

With that, he swung his arm and feathers came flying out of his palm like throwing knives. They flew through the street, not hitting anything. Odd. While his Quirk wasn't as good as say, Hawks, the range was substantial, especially in a street like this.

"Do you think he's gone?"

The masked yakuza shook his head. "No. He's still here, I can feel it." He swung his other arm and another volley flew. "Stay behind me. We just have to flush him out."

The lanky man nodded and kept his eye on the dimly-lit alley as the feathers kept flying, with the pair taking a few steps forward with each swing. By the fifth barrage, his swings became faster, and it was three volleys later that he heard a small thunk. He quickly looked to where one of the feathers flew and saw – albeit briefly, but still saw – a flicker in the shadows.

"Over there!" The leader sharply aimed his gaze at the spot he was pointing at and let his feathers loose. There it was again, a movement in the darkness and he could've sworn he heard a hiss.

"Why don't you come out now? We can at least end this with some civility."

Silence answered him. The leader sighed mockingly.

"Very well, don't say I didn't-" He quickly dodged to the side as a dagger flew from the shadows and sailed past where he just was, grazing his mask. He returned his gaze to the shadows, tilting his head.

"A cheeky one, are you?" Once again, no answer. He let loose a feather volley, and he heard another thunk. They got him twice. He had to be vulnerable now.

The saw-toothed man decided enough was enough and started to advance to the corner where their assailant supposedly was when a whistle caught his attention. Wait, didn't he-

"Look out!" he cried, but unfortunately, the leader barely managed to turn when the dagger flew again towards him from behind, this time colliding with the side of his head. Definitely a Quirk. It was enough for him to pause and try to rub his head…and that apparently was all that their attacker needed.

It was so fast. One moment the leader was trying to regain his focus, and the next he was slammed into by a dark shape. He flailed and raised his hand for a counterattack, but the shape grabbed him by the head, jerked it up, and sliced his throat with the dagger from before.

The masked yakuza let out a choked noise, trying to let loose his Quirk one more time before collapsing on the ground like a puppet cut from its strings. The underling looked at the scene in shock. Thankfully for him, he quickly snapped into focus and let loose his Quirk, the vibrations now thrumming in his jaw.

He placed his hand on the scarf, ready to pull it away at a moment's notice. The dark shape turned towards him and involuntarily stepped back.

From underneath the hood of a dark blue – or was it black? – sweater a pair of blue eyes glowed like flames in the dark. Surrounding them was what looked to be a mask in the shape of a skull.

His opponent raised his arm, the dagger pointed at him menacingly, clenched by a gloved hand. He briefly saw two feathers sticking out of his other arm. A low growl came from him and the gangster felt his hackles rise.

Who or what the fuck was this guy!?

"You…there is blood on your hands."

He blinked. What was up with his voice?

"You thrive on the misery of others. Whatever you want, you tear from the helpless without mercy. You and your friends have sold drugs to people like the ones dead at your feet," he gestured to the strewn corpses "knowing they would use them to extort and drain innocents. Even you and your group do the same with your…product.

Heroes and the police allow scum like you to live. No more. The evening bell has tolled thy name."

The thug felt his eyes narrow and the grip on his knife tighten. "Who the fuck are you to lecture me!?"

The hooded figure didn't reply. Fine.

The thug pulled off his scarf and dashed towards him, the grinding of his Buzzjaw Quirk rippling through the alley. "I'll rip my answers out with your fucking limbs!"

He opened his maw wide, ready to bite down and tear off the arm that killed-

Thunk.

The world slowed. The feeling of the ground under his feet started to fade. He felt himself stumbling. Falling. Falling. Falling.

He was looking up at the night sky. Something warm was flowing down his head. His jaw was spasming. A black mist came rolling in.

Everything was dark. So dark. Like the hungry nights in the streets. The light. Where was the light? He needed the light.

Oh. There it was. Two of them. Strange.

No. Not those. Not those.

Anything but those.

"GAH!"

'Remain calm, contractor. I did warn thee t'would hurt.'

"Y-yeah, it's one thing saying it and another thing actually feeling it!" I snap back.

'True. Now, apply the salve and then wrap the wound. These bandages should keep out any wetness.'

I hold back another retort. Just stay focused on treating yourself. Ignore the fact that you had to pull two sharp feathers out of your arm. Be grateful that it wasn't your good arm.

I hiss as I rub the cream on the wounds, feeling the cold bite of the medicine soothe the pain. Huh, what do you know? No painkillers tonight. That was great. Still wouldn't be sleeping on it for the next week.

Still, despite the pain in my arm, I felt…good. I think. Stopped a drug deal, killed some yakuza, prevented blackmail and extortion. A step up from thugs.

'I must say, the medicine of these times is truly fascinating. If my Order had this during the jangah, the fida'i would have less of an issue to deal with replacements.'

I smirk. "Yeah well, when you've got a whole profession that deals with mass damage and high chances of injury, then naturally people would want medicine that could keep up with the injuries. Even without healing Quirks, medicine has come a long way. I think you can even get a prosthetic that's just as good as a real arm."

'Indeed. Though I am concerned about those…pills thou art taking. From thine words and my eyes, too much of those can result in dire consequences.'

"I know that," I reply, making sure to tighten the bandage around the wound. "Don't worry Mawla, if this cream is legit I won't need those pills. I don't like the feeling they give me." After nodding with satisfaction at my work, I move on to the next one. "But I'm curious. Didn't you have some super-secret medicine that you used?"

'No, where did thou hear that?'

"Nowhere," I shrug and wince at the pain. "I just assumed that with you having a secret Order and all, you must've had something that would give you an edge over everyone else."

'Not by much. We had our own methods of dealing with injuries. True, we had a few…advanced means, but not near the level of the modern age. And what was it we said about assuming?'

I hold back a curse. "Never assume. It makes an ass out of you and me. Assume and strike, you risk exposure; verify and strike, you risk little."

'Good. At least I know that this lesson sticks to thee.'

I sigh. "Yes, Mawla." I look at my arm and nod. Seems alright, there's little pain. I'm just gonna have to be a bit careful…but then again, that seems to be the trend these days. Hiding it from Mom, now that's the tricky part.

I stand up and stretch, letting my back loose some tension. I palm the jar of cream and look at it. "You know, I'm glad that we didn't have to rob a pharmacy to get this."

'Hiding in plain sight. Sometimes better than the darkest of shadows.'

The corners of my lips twitch. "Believe me, Mawla, I know. You spend more than half an hour at that bar and you start appreciating drunkards." I shudder. That bar couldn't be more obvious if it tried, what with the people, the music…everything actually. The smell sticks to the hoodie, so I just leave it here. "I just wish the painkillers didn't come from that rapist's pocket. I feel dirty whenever I look at them."

'He will not be using them for the foreseeable future, besides it is just a tool. A tool deserves no ire.'

"Right, right." I place my hands on my hips and look to the table. "So, what's the loot?"

The spoils of my latest assassination (it still feels weird thinking about it) lie before me. A pair of burner phones, wallets (emptied of credit cards of course. Can't have the banks tracking me), a few pocket knives along with a trench knife – another one to the arsenal – and the best one: a Ziploc filled with cold, hard cash.

Probably taken from the unwilling or dead hands of the gang's victims. Immoral? Maybe. But unfortunately, medicine doesn't grow on trees and is a killer on the wallet. At least I can use it for a better cause than drugs.

I pick it up and count the wads of money. When I'm done, I let out a low whistle at the amount. 17,500,000 Yen. Wow. I knew that drugs were expensive in Japan, but I thought the sites were exaggerating. And this is just half of it!

"Yeah, definitely not gonna need to use my allowance for equipment anymore."

'It is fortunate indeed that we have stumbled upon this trove, but be cautious. Coin can lead to death far quicker than a dagger.'

I nod absentmindedly. Better to hide it someplace safe and only keep a little. So I take a wad and stuff it into my bag, just as I feel a dizzy spell coming over me. Did I bandage my injuries wrong? Nope, looks fine. I don't think those feathers had any poison in them, so that means…I open my phone and hiss at the time. Damn, is it that late? And on a school night!

"Time to go" I mutter. I swap my 'work' hoodie with a clean one and places the spoils in a box. After making sure it is placed in just the right spot in the closet from the street, I grab my bag and head out of the lair.

"So, what now?" I ask as I walk down the silent alley.

'What dost thou think?'

I let out a hum to disguise 'I don't know, that's why I'm asking'. I do not want a mind-jolt in the middle of the night. Especially in the streets.

"I…honestly don't know. We caught these guys after weeks of snooping and stabbing. Taking down a yakuza group isn't exactly like instructions on instant ramen. Not everyone is gonna have notes on their phone like the idiot at the bar."

'You should have at least interrogated one of them. We have lost a chance to obtain valuable information.'

I sigh. "I know, that was stupid. That injury threw me off-guard. And…that look in Sawmouth's face. He was beyond pissed. There was no way he was gonna talk."

Of course, it was left unsaid that I could have…persuaded him to talk. I had the capability. I paid attention to the lessons. And maybe I have been doing it whenever I looked into someone's eyes through the mask. But I didn't.

I press my fingers to my knuckles as the train begins to leave the station. Using that…that's a line I want to avoid crossing for as long as possible. The sarcastic bark nearly leaves my lips. Me, who has no problem with killing, is squeamish when it comes to torture. Hypocrite much, Ritsu?

Yeah. But even I think there are limits. Excuse me for trying to keep some level of integrity. Or was it morality?

'Nevertheless, what's done is done,' says Mawla in what I think is a comforting voice. The deep resonance makes it hard to figure out, even after all this time. 'All we can do now is wait. The hornet's nest has been stirred and the drones will swarm the air. All we have to do is watch and listen for the one that will take us to the queen.'

Nice metaphor. "That's gonna be a lot of drones," I remark, preparing myself as my stop was approaching.

'I have never once stated that t'would be easy.'

I let out a chuckle and get up. "Call me crazy, but I'm starting to think that nothing in this job is easy."

'Nothing in life is easy, least of all our calling; I suggest thou get used to it.'

"As you say, Mawla." I exit the station and begin walking down the path back home. "Um…something is bugging me though."

'What?'

"Let's say for a moment that I find the queen-er, boss of the Hassaikai, and I manage to kill him somehow. What would happen to the group?"

'Fall, obviously; our previous encounters with this gang have all shown that they fear their leader, this…Overhaul. He is controlling this group through mostly fear. Remove him, and they will crumble.'

"That, or they fracture and split into groups. Which will make my job a lot harder. If I recall, isn't that how your little sect of Islam got started? One priest-king died and there was a fight on who got the throne? With a coup banishing one of them and you followed him?"

Hassan lets out a low grumble. 'Thou art mistaken in your facts; Nizar was already named heir by his father Al-Mustansir, and that traitorous general Shahanshah placed Nizar's brother Al-Musta'li on the throne as a puppet ruler. It was no dispute, but outright treachery. After those filth executed him, we gave ourselves the title to ensure that no-one would follow the words of a pretender on strings.'

…yeah, not going to comment on that. I knew that big religions had a lot of sects, and those sects had sects. How are they exactly different? That's beyond me. But for someone like Hassan, who was practically a priest when he was alive, there was a humongous difference.

I hear him sigh. 'Apologies. I must remind myself I am beyond such matters. Yet, thou make a strong point. The chances of the clan splintering and multiplying into many smaller ones is present…hmm, no matter. Thou shalt deal with it in due time.'

I grimace. I definitely hope so. Sounded like a nightmare. I look up and perk up at the sight of my apartment.

'May I ask what brought this question on?'

I shrug. "It just…came to my mind. With all the different thugs I've been taking down, it made me realize there a lot of them, and it seems like every time there's a new hotshot boss or something they attach themselves to him. Or her."

'If thou believe that the number of lowlives will stay down simply because of thee, thou art sorely mistaken,' he scoffs.

"I know, I know!" I reply. I let out another sigh as I unlock the door. "Guess I'm a little frustrated." No reply.

I enter and look around. Good thing Mom's pulling an all-nighter at the firm. Injured or not, she would massacre me if I came home this late. I was tempted to grab some heavenly cookies-and-cream from the freezer, but my aching body protested. Too bad. Well, gotta shower quickly and go to bed. Nearly dozed off last class, and Makoto-sensei almost gave me the standard full-on lecture.

I take off the mask, allowing the cool air to blow on my face. After stuffing it deep in the gym bag and tossing it to the side of my room, I groan as the shower's soothing water melts me. A quick tooth-brush later and I snuggle into the blanket. Oh, the little joys of life.

Before I doze off to Dreamland, I hear Mawla's voice offer me a suggestion:

'Do not focus exclusively on this gang if thou feel stuck. From their size, it seems as though they will not suddenly vanish into thin air. Perhaps a new mission will give you a new outlook.'

A yawn escapes my lips. New mission? Huh…sounds…nice…

"So, what do you think this is?"

"I don't know, the coffee still hasn't reached my brain."

"This is your second cup."

The cop raised an eyebrow. "So?"

The one driving the squad car shook his head and sighed. "Never mind. Guess we'll see when we get there. But for multiple cars and forensics to be called over? Something's up."

"Again, coffee. You know Naomasa, I'm surprised you don't have gray hairs with how much you worry all the time."

Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi of the Tokyo Police Force rolled his eyes at his fellow officer. He was just an earnest worker, nothing more. So he pulled a couple more night shifts than the rest of the station, so what?

"Good thing we don't have to deal with morning traffic though."

"That's true."

The police vehicle moved through the busy streets until it reached Turasku Port. It was one of the lesser-known port areas of Tokyo, tucked out of the way of city life. Tsukauchi actually had to look it up in his GPS, which was weird because he knew his way around Japan's capital. Being an officer for many years helps with that.

When the car arrived, a street crossed off by yellow tape greeted the two cops. It was flanked by two more squad cars and a large black van with the Tokyo PF logo. The detective stepped out of the car and approached the street, the two cops standing guard letting him pass with a nod. He crossed under the tape and grimaced at the disturbing sight.

The alley was littered with corpses, all covered by tarps.

Standing over two bodies was another detective wearing plastic gloves, holding up a flashlight. Tsukauchi walked towards him until he stood right over him, making the man look up at him.

"Ah, Tsukauchi. I'd say good morning but…" he gestured to the corpses.

"I understand. What are we looking at?"

"Seven people dead, obviously."

He looked up for a moment. True enough, seven corpses all throughout the alley.

"What's the timeline here?"

"Half an hour ago we got a call from one of the dockworkers saying we should come over. Was scared out of his mind, saying there was blood all over the place. I got here first and…" he drew in a small breath. "Well, I think I made the right choice calling forensics."

"With seven people dead? Absolutely." The trenchcoat-wearing man said. He walked to another body and bent down. "That's the lab over there, right?"

"Yep, fresh out of the garage."

"That's good. Do you have another pair of those?" Tsukauchi caught the gloves and put them on. The scent of rot and iron filled his lungs as he leaned closer to the body. The wound was obvious to see, a hole right where the lung was. Half-shaven, uneven mop of brown hair, dirty black coat that didn't look like it had even seen a washing machine, it didn't look like he kept himself clean even before his death. The detective moved his gaze downwards when he saw something flash from underneath the corpse's coat. He gently lifted the article of clothing and inhaled sharply at the sight. A tattoo, extending all the way to the back.

"Yeah, I reacted like that too. Didn't think I'd see a yakuza scene like this. A couple of the other ones had a similar mark."

The comment made Naomasa frown. Were they all part of the same gang? "What about the rest?"

"Ah, that's the interesting part. They're-" The ringing of a cellphone cut the man off. He heard his fellow detective grumble. "What is it, can't you open the door?"

There was some chatter. "You're kidding me." Tsukauchi turned and saw that the man's silted eyes were wide open in alarm. More chatter. "Okay, I'll be right over." He ended the call and turned to him, a serious expression overtaking him. "It's the lab. If what they're saying is true, you're gonna want to hear this."

Tsukauchi nodded and the two got up and headed to the van. The doors opened automatically and they were greeted by another officer, a frizzy-haired woman wearing safety goggles and a surgical mask. "Good to see you, Detective Tsukauchi. I'm guessing you saw what happened over there?"

"Unfortunately. You said you wanted to show us something, right?"

"Yes, please look here." She gestured to a lit table where several items were placed. The first of those items was a series of pictures, depicting each corpse, uncovered.

"I take it you saw how at least one of them died?"

"Mmm-hmm. A wound to the lung, definitely a knife."

"Well, all of the bodies have a similar wound. All in lethal places: neck, head, lung, heart. One even had a cut right across the spine, above the collarbone."

The detective narrowed his eyes. His police intuition slowly started assembling the pieces. "Those wounds are deliberate. Whoever did this, they knew what they were doing." Something about this was familiar. But what?

He heard the other detective grumble behind him. "They were yakuza. I don't think it's surprising that they do."

"That actually brings me to the next thing." She gestured to the next item: A white bird mask. "This was taken from the face of one of the bodies, the one with his neck cut open."

Tsukauchi stared at the mask, his mind rifling through his mental file cabinet. "These people were from two different groups. One of those was Shie Hassaikai, they like their bird masks."

"I've read a couple of files about them. They usually avoid takeovers if they can and stick to drugs. What were they doing here?"

"Probably because of this." The frizzy-haired forensics officer gestured to the last two items: a Ziploc bag full of money and an open briefcase. Inside the case were vials filled with white powder. "Half a kilo of cocaine, with 17,500,000 Yen."

A piece clicked. "They were making a drug deal, weren't they?"

"Mmm-hmm. Sure looks like it. With how much this stuff is worth on the street and the amount of money there, it was one hell of a bargain."

It looked simple enough. But why were they all dead? And why was this starting to seem more familiar by the second?

"And what you said over the phone…"

The goggled officer sighed, her tone darkening. "I ran a little test on one of the vials, and I got a very unusual reading from it. I took it under the scope and…it's Trigger. These vials are laced with it."

The detective sharply turned to look at her. Trigger? In cocaine!? "Are you sure?"

"Positive. No other drug matches the results."

He bit back a curse. That drug was trouble ever since it hit the streets, making people's Quirks go out of control, like those Instant Villains a few years back. Ever since that encounter, he like many other officers hated the drug with a passion.

"Shit," the other detective cursed. "So the Hassaikai's dealing with Trigger?"

"Looks like it" she replied.

He scratched his head. "Damn, that's bad. If anything about their size is true, then we're gonna have a lot of problems on our hands. But why in cocaine?"

"I don't officially have an answer," she replied. "But I think it's maybe like a…condiment. Making the Quirk stronger along with the ecstasy. A nice little touch, if it wasn't Trigger."

"So what went wrong?" The two turned to Tsukauchi, who was staring at the case. "If this deal was a bargain, why are they all dead?"

The other detective bit his lip. "Good question. A traitor? Another gang?"

Tsukauchi shook his head. "No. If they were any of those, then why is this" he gestured to the case and the money "still here? Especially the money. That much money and drugs, or at least the money, is enough to tempt any yakuza or Villain."

Another piece clicked. "We're dealing with a Vigilante."

The tension in the van grew thicker. Vigilantism – fighting crime and not being a Hero or a policeman – was illegal, and ever since the debut of the Heroes they became rarer and rarer until they were nearly nonexistent. Using unregulated Quirks like that was a risk to the public and to themselves.

Of course, there was that group five years ago. But this was different, far different. They beat up the criminals and left them for the police, and they had an agreement with the heroes but this was just…

Hold on. This all seemed very similar to-

Tsukauchi gasped, drawing the attention of the two officers as he did. He quickly pulled out his phone and typed. "Everything alright?"

"Come on, come on…" His phone pinged and he typed again. "I think I know who we're dealing with."

"The Hero Killer? His MO is like this."

He shook his head. "As far as we know, he doesn't target yakuza, only Heroes. But if this is what I think it is…" Another ping and an image appeared.

He showed it to the two officers, who leaned forward. "This was taken three weeks ago, outside of Kamino Ward. Gang members, all of them dead from stab wounds. We found more drugs hidden under a mattress. And-" Another ping, this time an audio file. "In the past few months, gang members have been dying left and right, not just the Hassaikai. We thought they were skirmishes between gangs, who are not as dead as we thought. We've made a few arrests because of this. But if this is really what I think it is…then we've been fooled. All of us."

"You're not suggesting that some…Vigilante is killing yakuza all over the city, right? I mean, how many died in these…skirmishes?"

The detective closed his eyes for a moment. "I don't remember the number, and I don't know how many of those deaths are actually because of him. But…I think it's at least above ten. Seventeen if we count the ones outside. And that's just using what we've found."

"Seventeen?" the forensics officer asked, her voice rising. A high number by murder standards. "That's…are you sure?"

"Not a hundred percent, no" he conceded. "I might need to ask around headquarters to be sure. But this seems like too much of a coincidence."

His fellow detective's face scrunched up. "I think it's kind of far-fetched."

"Again, I know. Maybe I'm drawing to conclusions." Tsukauchi's voice lowered. "But I can't shake off this feeling. The pieces fit too perfectly."

The silt-eyed officer still looked skeptical but didn't comment. He pointed to the audio file. "What's that?"

"Cryptology managed to hack the phone of one of the gang members. It was in his pants pocket, so it's not very clear, but this is what we heard." He hit the play icon.

Sure enough, the sound was muffled. Someone was talking, but the words were ineligible, apart from a couple like 'turf' and 'payment'. Then there were thuds. The voices began to panic. The audio became even more muffled, but there was no mistaking the sounds of pain.

"N-no, don't, please, where-"

The file ended.

The two officers blinked. "We had to cut out the last bit. Didn't want to risk it leaking."

The forensics officer raised her hand to her mouth. "What was the last part?"

"Him dying, if the sounds are anything to go by. But just before that, someone else talked. Then, he spoke a name." Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, who helped bring many a criminal and Villain to justice, has seen some of the worst people could bring themselves to and privy to perhaps the biggest secret in the Hero world, could not stop the sense of foreboding that arose within his stomach.

"Shinigami."

Ritsu Ogawa (Assassin - Hassan-i Sabbah)

Stats: Too human to be measured.

Skills:

Presence Concealment D+: The ability to hide from others. A poor level for any Assassin, but against ordinary criminals and some intelligent ones it works well.

Throwing (Dagger) B and Throwing (Retrieval) B: The expertise for throwing projectile weapons; in this case, daggers. His daggers have the same destructive power as firearms when thrown, typically spelling certain death for human targets. He can retrieve them to his hand with but a mere gesture

Information Erasure D: Erases all traces of the user's identity, physical or digital, after leaving a scene of assassination. It does not hide the user's identity in any other situation, and clues can be pieced together to deduce identity. If the user's identity is discovered, then the effects of the skill vanish.

Quirk - Super-Hearing C: A power gained as a result of evolution. Allows the user to hear precise details within a certain range. Can extend the range in exchange for loss of detail. Also alerts the user of incoming danger provided they can react to it.

Noble Phantasm: ?