Bluebird: Part 1

Three guards by the door, two rooftop lookouts, and an unknown number of people inside. Diego put down his binoculars. A glance towards his green-haired kidnapper told him that he hadn't looked up from his phone for the past 20 minutes.

Diego had been surveying this building for the past two weeks. On paper, it belonged to "Kazuma's Autorepair," but the strange absence of cars meant otherwise. They were almost certain that it belonged to the Eight Percepts of Death. Picking up the binoculars again, he looked to see if an opening had appeared, but a green tuft of hair blocked his vision.

"Do you plan on staring them to death?" Izuku asked with a grin on his face.

"There's no opening. And I need-"

"Then create one. The longer you wait, the more likely they're going to change locations again. We've already known about this place for two weeks now."

Diego did have a plan. It was just one that he did not like. He put down the binoculars and looked at Izuku - he seemed to be working up the nerve to ask him something, then finally spoke. "Just the bags of money, right?"

Izuku looked at him strangely. "You're about to steal from one of the most brutal gangs in the world, and you're worried about hurting them?"

Diego began to say something, but Izuku had already cut him off again.

"Whether or not anyone dies tonight all depends on if there's money in that building. Otherwise, we'll need to send the Eight Percepts of Death a message somehow."

Diego gulped. Putting down his binoculars for the final time tonight, he voiced his final question. "How good is your throw?"

The answer to that was "very good," as he soon found out when Izuku threw him (rather unceremoniously) onto the ledge that Diego pointed out.

A smoke break and a ledge. That was all his plan hinged on. Looking back on it, there were definitely a million better ways of getting into the building unseen. He had just come up with the most cockamamie-harebrained scheme just to get in.

But now that he was on the ledge that Izuku had thrown him onto (rather unceremoniously), his mind was filled with clarity. In two minutes' time, one of the rooftop guards would take a ten-minute smoke break while the other would go inside for whatever reason. That gave him ten minutes to scale the remainder of the tall building, use his quirk on the smoking guard, and then somehow deal with the other guard when he inevitably came back.

Deep breaths now, Diego told himself. He glanced at his watch. Now.

The desperate scramble up the building began. As he got closer to the top, his arms got weaker and weaker until suddenly, he was gripping gravel. A quick peek over the top told him the guard hadn't noticed him. He pulled himself over the top as quietly as he could and sneaked his way over to the guard. As always, they were smoking while looking over the city view.

Diego's quirk was a curious one. As long as he maintained skin-to-skin contact with someone, he could command them. But recently, he only needed to touch someone once to be able to control them.

The sharp intake of breath as Diego's cold hands wrapped around the back of the guard's neck sent a rush of euphoria through him. Activating his quirk, he gave a relatively simple command: to sleep. The guard dropped like a bag of potatoes.

Grabbing the unconscious man's gun, Diego turned towards the rooftop door. It was already opening by the time he got there. He pointed the gun at the newly emerged guard and held a finger up to his lips.

Shit. He looks terrified. Does he even want to do this job? Diego thought. The gun felt heavy in his trembling hands, prompting him to use the other hand to secure his grip before advancing. As he made contact with the man to send him to sleep as well, the same euphoric feeling rushed through him again.

Diego looked at both men's unconscious forms before slowly advancing down the stairs that the door led to. His hands were shaking again. "Must be because I'm shitting myself," he whispered to himself.

He emerged onto a dimly lit corridor off of which were many doors. The one opposite the stairs to the roof must lead to another corridor or a staircase, he thought. With that line of thinking, Diego tried one of the doors on his left. It opened up into the most unlikely of rooms.

It was a nursery. There was a cot, a train set in the corner, and a dollhouse in the other. Another quick glance told him that there were no kids in the room. Thank fuck, he thought. He wouldn't have known what to do if there were.

Closing the door, he turned to check the others. But someone was blocking his way.

"Done sneaking about?" Izuku asked.

"How the hell did you get in so quickly?" Diego asked with an astounded look on his face.

Ignoring his question, Izuku rambled on. "You know I wanted to use tonight to see what you're made of. Not to see you James Bond this shit."

"Who the fuck is James Bond?"

"You guys don't have James Bond?"

Diego's eyes zoomed in on the gun carried in Izuku's hand. Shit, he thought. The other guard's gun. He knew he had forgotten something.

Izuku pointed it upwards and squeezed the trigger. A resounding bang reverberated through the building.

Throwing him a blue mask, Izuku grinned. "Twenty seconds before the rest of them reach this floor. I want to see you dance, Shinso."

(LINE BREAK) (LINE BREAK)

"Coffee?" Naomasa Tsukauchi asked. With no response given from the red-eyed man, he shrugged his shoulders and decided to drink both cups. "A walk might do you some good. Clear the head." Again, there was no response.

The wall was littered with photos of bloody crime scenes, all interconnected by red strings, blue strings, green strings, and all kinds of other strings. It looked like a mess.

"Fuck, my head hurts."

"I'm not going to say I told you so, Aizawa, but you should've known better." Naomasa looked at Aizawa and shook his head. "You knew it was going down tonight, but you still went to Project Excalibur."

Scratching the side of his arms, he replied, "I can't exactly just say no, can I?"

"But even so, this is also important."

Aizawa had no response to that. It had been a long time since he had been reprimanded, and even longer when the other person was in the right. He was needed here tonight.

It was a murder epidemic. Five local gangs were completely eliminated over the space of a week. Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence. But five times. Aizawa shook his head.

Whoever was doing this was clearly targeting someone or something. They skipped over other local gangs in the area for seemingly no reason. Aizawa had his ears down to the ground, but there had been no noise in the city's underbelly. It was total radio silence. Clearly deliberate, Aizawa thought. His mind ran at a million miles an hour, trying to figure out this enigma of a puzzle.

"Do you know what they're calling this guy?" Naomasa's voice put a grinding halt to his thoughts.

"What?"

"The Bluebird," Naomasa said. "Quite dramatic, don't you think."

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Just passing the time. You do realize that we are gonna spend the next 12 hours awake. Talking helps with the tiredness."

Aizawa sighed. Deciding to indulge his friend, he got up to sit opposite him. "So tell me all about this Bluebird, then."

Before Naomasa could spout his colorful story, no doubt embellished for his own amusement, his watch beeped. They both stood up.

"Looks like we're on the clock again," Naomasa smirked.

"Do you have to be so happy at this hour?"

"Better to have a sense of humor at midnight, or you'll go crazy." They both looked at each other. "I really hope your hunch is right, Aizawa."

"It better be. Let's go catch Bluebird."