Busy Night

Hana lived in a decrepit apartment with her boyfriend, Ryo. His temper was as volatile as a storm, and Hana bore the brunt of it. Her skin was scarred and bruised.

Her clientele ranged from vicious to pathetic, but none of them gave a damn about her wounds. Afterward, she would use her qurk to disorient them, and then rifle through their belongings. The extra money she took this way was often the only thing that kept her from starving, if she managed to keep it hidden from Ryo that was.

Hana's most recent customer was no exception. A man with wandering hands in his middle years. She used her quirk when he finished, and as he sat there stunned and his head a confused tangle, she searched through his wallet. There she found something—a small, black pill with a blue stripe.

Rumors of the pill had circulated among the downtrodden for weeks now. Some whispered that taking it could call forth that monster, while others believed it was a death sentence. Hana had never believed in rumors, but her desperation was a powerful motivator.

Hana was sitting on her tattered mattress in her filthy flat, holding the pill gingerly in her fingers. Ryo was out, probably drinking away what little money they had left. She studied the pill. This might be her only option if the rumors were accurate. If they weren't... well, death felt like a more humane option than what she was living.

She swallowed it.

She leaned back on her worn mattress, waiting for whatever fate had in store, and the surprisingly tasty flavor lingered. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears for a few moments, and she experienced an odd feeling.

She opened her eyes to see him, a figure sitting comfortably on her old sofa.

The legendary S-class villain Sandatsu Owari looked at her with a look that bordered on boredom. The mass killer who spread fear throughout the country.

Hana's throat tightened with breath. She had called forth a monster.

"Well?" Sandatsu's tone was cool and collected. "Speak up."

In an attempt to find her voice, Hana's mind raced. Sandatsu's easygoing manner stood in stark contrast to the seriousness of her predicament. She couldn't let this opportunity pass her by.

She stumbled, her eyes wide with terror, "I... I don't know where to start," she said.

Sandatsu leaned back on the couch and groaned. "It's not that difficult to guess your condition. Details aren't very important to me. Make your request.

She started by saying, "There's so much I hate about my life," cutting the villain off. When she realized what she had done, she fell silent.

"Go on."

Hana forced herself to speak after swallowing hard. "The people at the bottom remind me of my suffering, which is why I hate them. I despise those in positions of authority." she continued, her voice was gaining strength. "I hate my boyfriend. I hate my parents. But I don't want them to get better. They don't deserve to live, even if they reform. I want them to pay."

"Have you been rehearsing this speech or something?"

"Uh? Well, I've. I've been thinking about what to say a lot."

"Ugh. Nevermind. Sure, I'll help you."




When Ryo arrived home he was met with a sight that made him freeze in his tracks. Hana sat at the rickety dining table, across from none other than Sandatsu Owari. The villain was wating as if that was his own home. Hana, visibly trying to stay calm, couldn't completely mask her fear.

"Welcome home, Ryo," Sandatsu said casually. "We were just enjoying a meal. Surprisingly good, considering your fridge was practically empty."

Ryo's eyes darted between Sandatsu and Hana, confusion and fear etched on his face. Before he could react, he found himself lifted off the ground by an unseen force, Sandatsu's psychokinesis effortlessly dragging him to the table.

"Join us," Sandatsu said, his tone almost cheerful. "Unfortunately, we didn't prepare enough food for you. You really should've stocked the kitchen better."

Hana, her hands trembling slightly, stood up to serve another bowl of rice. The sound of the spoon scraping against the bowl was the only noise in the tense silence. She placed the bowl in front of the villain, then quickly sat back down.

"So, Ryo," Sandatsu began, his voice turning cold, "I'd like to see Hana's client list."

Ryo, trying to muster some semblance of toughness, scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sandatsu chuckled, a sound devoid of any real humor. "Ryo, I know you're not the brightest. In fact, you're probably dumb enough to keep a physical list with names and contact information of some of your clients. Your whole operation reeks of amateurism."

Ryo's bravado crumbled slightly. "Why... why are you doing this?" he stammered.

"Because I wanted to, and because Hana wanted to. So why not?" Sandatsu replied, his casual demeanor returning.

"So, it's because of a whim?" Ryo asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

Sandatsu took a slow sip of milk, his eyes never leaving Ryo's. "When it comes to me, someone who can do the things I do, a whim should be something very important for everyone else."

Ryo's defiance evaporated, replaced by a growing fear. He glanced at Hana, who looked back at him with a mixture of resolve and trepidation. This was her moment, her chance to break free from the chains that had bound her for so long.

Sandatsu's psychokinetic grip tightened, pulling Ryo closer. "Now, let's not make this difficult. Where is the list?"

Ryo, realizing he had no escape, his voice barely a whisper, said, "Inside my other shoes, under the bed."

Sandatsu nodded, releasing Ryo. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Hana quickly retrieved the list, her hands steadying as she handed it to Sandatsu. He glanced over it, his expression unreadable, before placing it on the table.

"Good. Now, Ryo," Sandatsu said, leaning forward, "we have some new rules. Hana is free from now on. And you, you will comply with whatever she says. Understood?"

Ryo nodded vigorously, terror evident in his eyes.

"Now, Hana-"

Sandatsu watched with a mixture of mild surprise and curiosity as Hana, without a moment's hesitation, plunged a knife into Ryo's neck. Blood spurted out in an almost rhythmic pulse, and Ryo's eyes widened in shock before glazing over. Sandatsu raised an eyebrow, his tone mildly reproachful. "Damn, you couldn't even wait?"

Hana, still in shock and seemingly unaware of his words, stared at him, her mind struggling to process the rapid turn of events. "What?"

"I said," Sandatsu repeated, a touch of irritation creeping into his voice, "if you couldn't even wait."

She mumbled an apology, her eyes never leaving Ryo's lifeless body. In a mechanical, almost robotic motion, she reached out to withdraw the knife from his neck. The blade had gone in deep, and it took significant effort to pull it free. As she did, she stumbled backward, the knife slipping from her hand and clattering onto the bloodstained table. Blood splattered across the remnants of their meal, staining the rice, though Sandatsu continued eating, unperturbed.

Hana, still in a state of shock, found it difficult to focus on anything other than the bloody scene before her. Her breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps, and her hands shook uncontrollably. Sandatsu sighed, clearly impatient with her state of panic. A long, black tendril emerged from his back, snaking towards Hana and injecting something into her arm. Almost immediately, her breathing slowed, and the tremors in her hands subsided.

He moved closer to her, crouching down so their eyes were level. Taking the client list from the table, he held it in front of her face, his voice steady and composed. "Alright, Hana. What do you want to tackle first? Business or family?"

Hana blinked, the question pulling her back to reality. Her gaze shifted from the list to Sandatsu and then back to the list. The shock was still there, but now it was mixed with a strange sense of clarity, as if the substance had not just soothed her but sharpened her focus.

"Business," she finally said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Let's deal with business first."

Sandatsu nodded, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Good choice. Now, let's get to work."




The observation deck of Kyoto Tower, typically bustling with tourists, is almost empty, only filled by the muted sounds of murmured conversations and a few camera shutters every now and then. The view of the city sprawls out below, damaged but not yet broken. Lights twinkling like fragile stars.

Among the few people there stands a figure—still, almost unnaturally so. She blends in just enough to avoid drawing immediate attention. Her clothes are slightly oversized and tattered at the edges.

A simple duffel bag hangs from her shoulder.

Her fingers twitching against the strap.

However, after a while, a nearby security guard notices her. Something’s off.

He frowns, stepping away from his post. His hand hovers near his belt as he walks toward her.

“Hey—miss? You alright there?” the guard calls out. His voice is firm but polite.

The figure doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flinch.

The people closest to her start to take notice of the interaction, their conversations falter as they steal glances.

The guard approaches cautiously now, something in his gut telling him to stop—but his duty overrides his instincts.

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

The figure raises her head just slightly, revealing hollow eyes glazed over, a mix of red veins and warped irises. Her features are subtly distorted, as though something unnatural is bubbling beneath her skin. The guard freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

Before he can react, a gun is in her hand.

A single shot rings out. The sound isn’t as loud as one might expect—muffled slightly, but the effect is the same.

The bullet hits him point-blank in the face.

The guard collapses where he stands, his body crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood sprays across the floor and walls, the sharp metallic scent hitting the air like a physical blow.

For a beat, there’s silence.

And then—chaos.

Screams erupt as the people closest to the scene scramble backward, knocking and colliding into each other. The small crowd transforms into a panicked swarm, bodies shoving and trampling in their desperation to escape. Shoes clatter against the polished floor, and someone smashes into a glass panel.

The figure—Hana—stands unmoving in the eye of the storm, as though the carnage has nothing to do with her. Her breathing is shallow, her expression distant, as if her mind is barely tethered to her body.

She doesn’t blink as she slings the blood-spattered duffel bag off her shoulder and unzips it slowly, the sound drowned out by the chaos around her.

Inside: weapons. Guns, ammo, grenades.
The tools of the trade.

She retrieves a semi-automatic rifle and sliding a magazine into place. The unnatural enhancements Sandatsu’s Drugs quirk forced into her system have taken their toll—her skin seems to stretch slightly tighter around her frame, veins faintly pulsing beneath her arms and neck with an unnatural hue. It’s like she’s halfway between herself and something monstrous.

The people fleeing around her barely register as individuals in her fractured perception; they are just silhouettes, noise, meaningless movement. She doesn’t see them as people anymore.

The world blurs at the edges, her fugue state drawing her deeper into detachment.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens rise over the screams. Police or heroes—she doesn’t know, doesn’t care. She turns toward the shattered observation window, the city sprawled below her like an offering.

The rifle’s barrel gleams faintly under the harsh overhead lights as Hana raises it, the glass crunching under her boots as she takes a step forward. The wind howls through the broken panels, carrying the echoes of the panic below.

For now, it’s only her, the weapons, and Kyoto spread out at her feet.

A city about to feel the weight of the Reaper’s influence.




The faint glow of a single hanging bulb casts elongated shadows across the walls of the hideout—functional, unadorned, and quiet save for the two of them. A large, round table sits at the center of the room. As they both are getting ready to leave it's clear the meeting has just concluded.

“And remember—ambiguity is a tool, but chaos is a weapon. If you want to keep control, never confuse the two. Let your enemies act first, but only when you know how they’ll move.” Desolator taps the table twice for emphasis. “You’ll find that half of villainy is just making sure others waste their time while you don’t.”

Sandatsu smirks faintly, as if amused. He leans back, crossing his arms. “You make it sound easy.

Desolator stands, his imposing figure cloaked in shadow. “It is easy—if you’re willing to think first and kill second. Not the other way around.” He offers Sandatsu a curt nod.

With that, the Reaper strides out of the hideout, his silhouette dissolving into the darkness. The room feels emptier in his absence, though Desolator seems unfazed. He lounges there for a moment longer, basking in the quiet.

Outside, still not far from the hideout, Sandatsu emerges from one of his portals.

A voice—sharp and dripping with condescension—cuts through the stillness.

“Ugh, finally. I thought you’d never finish.”

Sandatsu turns his head lazily to see Mio. She looks as disinterested as ever, her arms folded, hip cocked to the side as though she’s been waiting far too long.

Mio presses her fingers to the side of her temple, and with a faint click, a small memory drive ejects itself from just above her ear. She pulls it free and flicks it toward Sandatsu without ceremony.

“Here,” she says flatly. “This should be the last one. You’re lucky my quirk has such a great range. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Sandatsu catches the tiny memory drive effortlessly between his fingers and rolls it once across his knuckles before making it vanish with a flick of his hand—gone in an instant.

You’re so diligent, I might start to think you actually enjoy helping me.

Mio scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just want to get this over with.” She places a hand on her hip, tilting her head as a smirk tugs at her lips. “So… about that quirk. Are you actually going to do something?”

Oh, I’ve got everything set up already back at the lab. I had Ivan's men bring the guy for me.” he answers. “The pieces are moving. You’ll see soon enough.

Mio raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Whatever. As long as it works. I don’t want to get dragged into your mess if this blows up.

Sandatsu doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he lifts his hand and, with a casual swipe, tears a rift into the air itself. The jagged breach on the other side reveals the familiar location of Mio's safehouse.

Mio steps toward the portal, sparing Sandatsu a glance as she pauses at the edge. “You coming, or what?

Sandatsu waves her off lazily, turning his attention elsewhere. “Go ahead. I’ve got a busy night.

“Suit yourself,” Mio mutters, stepping through the portal without another word. The rift closes behind her with a soft whump, leaving Sandatsu alone again in the quiet hideout.

For a moment, he sits there, fingers steepled together as he considers his next moves. The faintest hint of satisfaction tugs at his lips.

Busy night, indeed,” he murmurs to himself, his voice low and dangerous.




Doctor Saraki looks every bit the part of a benign, overworked government employee—his casual gait and faint sighs masking the dispassion of someone who views human beings as little more than data points on a chart.

He reaches his office, a cramped, cluttered room hidden away in the labyrinthine building. The walls are crammed with filing cabinets, shelves sagging under the weight of decades-old documents. Loose papers cover every surface—an organized chaos only Saraki himself can navigate.

As Saraki opens the door, he halts for the briefest second.

Seated casually in his chair, one leg lazily crossed over the other, flipping through a thick sheaf of papers, is Sandatsu. The young man looks perfectly at ease, as though he’s been there for hours. His eyes skim the pages with detached focus, and an almost imperceptible smirk rests on his face.

Saraki doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. Instead, he exhales heavily and shuts the door behind him.

“Like mother, like son,” he mutters, smoothing out the front of his shirt as he walks in. “She didn’t have much sense of boundaries either.”

Sandatsu’s eyes flick upward, momentarily meeting Saraki’s gaze before drifting back to the page. “Oh? You bring her up like we’re old friends.

“We were acquainted. Professionally,” Saraki corrects, his tone flat as he loosens his tie. He settles into the chair across from Sandatsu, resting his hands on his knees.

It's been forever since we've met hasn't it?"

"It has. Never saw you much after the first meeting, right after you were retrived by the Commission. Back then, I handled your medical and psych reports."

Sandatsu hums noncommittally, his attention still half on the papers. “I’m guessing you’ve flipped through my files more than enough times.

Saraki shrugs. “Occupational hazard. I’ve read worse. Yours were failry... incomplete.” He tilts his head slightly, his tinted lenses making it impossible to see his eyes. “How’s your mother's quirk doing these days?”

Sandatsu finally lowers the papers. “Oh, still going strong. You’d think she wasn't human.

“Impressive,” Saraki replies, though his tone doesn’t shift in the slightest. He studies Sandatsu with a clinical detachment, his round glasses catching the dim light. “So what brings you here tonight? I doubt it’s for a check-up.”

Sandatsu taps the edge of the documents against his knee, straightening them. “Just catching up on some light reading. You know how it is. But don’t worry, I’ve got all I need now.

Saraki leans back, his fingers lacing together over his stomach. “It must be convenient. Having Conduit alongside an intelligence-enhancing quirk,” he muses. “I imagine all this—” he gestures vaguely to the piles of paper, “—looks a little different to you than it does to the rest of us.”

Sandatsu chuckles softly, tucking the documents neatly under his arm as he stands. “Hah, yeah. You could say that.” He stretches out his arms briefly, as though shaking off unseen tension. “Well, it’s been a pleasure seeing you again, Doc.

Saraki watches as Sandatsu starts to leave, but as the young man moves to toss the papers back onto the table, Saraki’s voice cuts through.

“Please be careful with those,” Saraki says, almost automatically. His tone is sharper, reflexive—just for a moment. “They’re valuable.”

Sandatsu freezes mid-motion. Just for a second.

It’s subtle—so subtle that most people wouldn’t notice—but Saraki does. The faint flicker of realization that passes through Sandatsu’s features before his casual mask settles back into place.

Of course, my bad,” Sandatsu says smoothly, his voice as light as ever. He steps closer to Saraki, extending his hand.

Saraki stares at the offered hand for a moment—an odd gesture, especially in Japan. But after a beat, he reaches out and clasps it. The villain's hand is cold, and the palm specially seems rough as sandpaper.

Sandatsu’s grip is firm as he shakes the doctor’s hand with exaggerated enthusiasm. “It’s been great catching up. Real nostalgic, you know? Happy to see you in good health.” He flashes a smile—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry for the intrusion.

Saraki doesn’t respond right away, his expression unreadable beneath those tinted lenses. He simply pulls his hand back, brushing off the encounter with a faint, unbothered hum.

Sandatsu gives a mock salute as he heads to the door. “Busy night ahead. Take care, Doc.

With that, he slips out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a long moment, Saraki remains seated, staring at the empty space where Sandatsu had been. Finally, he exhales—a faint, humorless laugh escaping under his breath.

“Like mother, like son,” he mutters again, shaking his head.

Edit Report
Pub: 17 Dec 2024 19:49 UTC
Edit: 19 Dec 2024 11:33 UTC
Views: 126