Chapter Text
-.-
The slog from the train station to the agency was a test of agility. Intermittent showers turned the gutters into rivers, there were puddles everywhere, and the sea of umbrellas took effort to navigate if you didn’t want to be poked in the face.
Thunder rumbled, and the sky grew noticeably darker, threatening more to come, and the group picked up the pace. Aizawa had insisted that they go early, and Hitoshi was extremely grateful when they were safely inside before the true downpour began.
On the outside, Agency Olympus didn’t live up to the pretentious name. It was a generic office building that resembled almost any other office building. Instead of a sign or plaque, the name was etched into the stone, and they almost missed the door because of that.
Inside, the lobby is equally unassuming. There were some plants by the window, and Hitoshi was sure those were the exact chairs his doctor's office had in the waiting room. There was even a magazine rack on the wall between the two sets of chairs.
The receptionist was separated from them by a low wall with a glass top, and that’s where the differences started to show. The glass was thick. Not the skinny little partitions you’d find in other places, but heavy enough that it was probably bulletproof and resistant to a whole list of offensive quirks.
Hitoshi didn’t pay much attention when Aizawa went up to the desk to check in, examining the magazines, all of which were at his doctor’s office, as if they all had the same subscription list. He didn’t pay much attention when they were called up to hand over their ID and get guest passes. He finally tuned in when the tone of the conversation changed.
“I’m sorry, Bakugou is flagged, and I cannot provide him with a guest pass. He’s welcome to wait here until your meeting is finished.”
“He’s a member of the class. Why would he be excluded?”
Aizawa sounded annoyed, and Bakugou was glaring as if he could will the woman to do what he wanted with a dirty look. The receptionist was unimpressed.
“I’ve called Blockade, he’ll be with you shortly.”
And that was the end of the conversation. She slid all of their IDs back to Aizawa and turned back to her computer.
Hitoshi watched his classmates look back and forth at each other at the unexpected development.
Blockade lived up to his name. He was built like Endeavor, in a costume of concrete gray with traffic cone orange highlights. He practically marched forward, dwarfing Aizawa, though Hitoshi didn’t think the man was trying to loom. He was just that big and currently displeased.
Hitoshi drifted closer, gaze studiously on the pictures hung along the wall, jealous of Jirou’s ability as he strained to hear the conversation.
“‘When we agreed to your request, we specifically requested that you not bring him.”
Aizawa frowned. “We had an emergency, two people needed to step out, and we had to restructure our team. Bakugou, Dynamight, is a sound tactician and the heavy hitter we had free.”
“I don’t care. We have a tactician and one of the best mission success rates without relying on so-called ‘heavy hitters’. That just tells me he's the lion's share of your property damage.
“He’ll behave.”
“From the stories I’ve heard, I doubt it, and I can't allow him in without breaking trust with my team.”
Hitoshi watched his classmates from the corner of his eye. Bakugou was fuming silently, clenching and opening his fists instead of his mouth. The others were stunned, resigned, or simply curious, based entirely on their relationship to Bakugou.
“Bro, you don’t even know him.” Leave it to Kirishima. Hitoshi groaned internally.
“We do, actually,” Blockade didn’t elaborate, “and I can already tell that my team’s reluctance to work with you at all is well-founded.” The man was resolute; his disapproval of Kirishima butting in was obvious, and Aizawa looked just as frustrated.
Arms crossed and done, Blockade reminded Hitoshi of Vlad King. At her well-fortified desk, the receptionist mirrored his posture and attitude.
There was a pause. Hitoshi and the others could feel the tipping point, and everyone knew it was not tipping in their favor. This was the agency making headway against the League of Villains. The team that infiltrated and shattered the Shie Hassakie. UA 2nd years and recent grads had been involved, but it was the Agency Olympus team working with Sir Nighteye that made it happen. Two targets escaped, but otherwise, all the mission objectives were completed.
Kirishima had been on that, along with Uraraka and Tsu, but they’d all shaken their heads when he’d asked about the Olympus team. Whoever they were, they made sure they didn’t stand out. Kind of like their building. He could appreciate the work ethic, but it did nothing to satisfy his curiosity.
Little pops from Bakugou's quirk warned them how he felt about it, and Hitoshi stifled a groan. The hot head was proving their point.
The moment broke when two figures came crashing in from outside. The torrent of rain had been a steady white noise in the background, masking the sound of the doors opening until the two boys? Men? Came tumbling in. They were drenched, the one in front grumbling, the one behind laughing brightly.
The first …sort of registered: taller, thin, dark hair. Like Hitoshi, the guy came in out of the rain as scraggly and miserable as a wet cat.
The second caused Hitoshi's heart to give an extra heavy thump. Judging by the soft, ooh beside him, Mina agreed.
Soaked, his shirt might as well have been painted on and hid nothing. He wasn't tall, but his muscles had muscles, and Hitoshi was sure the guy could bench-press him… or fold him in half without trying.
They were at Agency Olympus, and the guy was built like a Greek god, like he'd been carved from marble – an idealized version of humanity.
Vivid green eyes crinkled with laughter, and he flashed a blinding smile at the receptionist as water ran off of them onto the tiled floor.
“Sorry, Kiko!”
Hitoshi had a moment to register the alarm on the receptionist’s face before all hell broke loose.
“Deku.” The word dripped with so much venom that Hitoshi automatically stepped aside. A flash and bang of explosions, and Bakugou was across the foyer, grabbing the guy, clawing at his shirt to get a grip, and blowing them both toward the far wall.
The green-haired teen went from surprise and shock to fear, then rage. Before they reached the wall, the kid dropped his weight into his heels, twisted, and Bakugou was upended, slamming heavily to the floor. The kid went down with him, adding his weight to the impact, and then rolled free while Bakugou was dazed and breathless.
Aizawa and Blockade leapt forward, the first snagging Bakugou up in the capture weapon while the other got in front of the human brick that just trashed their ‘heavy hitter’ while soaking wet, unarmed, unprepared, and sliding in sneakers on a wet floor.
Baukugou was unceremoniously hauled out the front doors before anyone had a chance to recover. Hitoshi and his classmates watched as Aizawa chewed Bakugou out. Whatever he was saying was silenced by the heavy glass and the still steady fall of rain.
“So much for him behaving,” Blockade drawled, shaking his head. “You good kid?”
“Why is he here?” The other teen's voice was strained. Hitoshi couldn’t quite peg the emotion, but unhappy didn’t cover it.
“Because UA decided that instead of questioning boundaries, they’d just ignore it.”
“Then they can leave, because this isn’t going to work. Ketsubutsu has a great team we can use; I’ll contact Fukukado-Sensei.”
“For what it’s worth,” Hitoshi had no idea why he was talking, but his mouth was in motion, and it was too late to stop now, “I’m perfectly happy to get rid of him too, and I was really looking forward to the opportunity to work with you.”
“He’s not the only one.” Uraraka was more hesitant, but she stepped up beside him. “I had a chance to work with your team for the Shie Hassaikai raid. It was really well done.” She offered the praise with a hopeful smile.
“Please, the disrespect was unintended,” Yaoyurozu bowed politely. “While Aizawa-sensei might have known the directive regarding Bakugou, we did not, and I apologize on behalf of my classmate for his awful behavior.”
“He’s certainly not going to.” Bright green eyes narrowed, gaze raking across the group. Rumpled from the assault with tousled wet hair, the guy was still unfairly attractive. You could cut yourself on that jawline.
“The decision’s yours, kid. I’m going to go deal with that.” The hero nodded to the argument outside, patted the boy on the shoulder, and walked out.
It was a second standoff. Just as quiet, and they might still be on the losing side of it.
The other guy he’d forgotten entirely stepped forward. He was cautious and, from the way he moved in, protective. He handed the green-haired teen the bag that had been dropped when Baukugou attacked him.
“If you already have plans using their quirks, it might save time to use the ones that are salvageable.” Dark eyes scanned them impersonally. They were tools, and he clearly didn’t think most of them were worth the risk of working with either. It was unpleasant, but Hitoshi couldn’t deny that they’d earned it, by association if not by choice.
“We got off to a bad start!” Always the apologist, Kirishima stepped forward. “I’m Kirishima Eijiro,”
“Yes, Red Riot, also part of the Shie Hassaikai raid,” the other teen cut him off. “I know who all of you are.” The sharp-eyed gaze landed on Hitoshi, and nothing that intimidating should be that hot. “Almost all of you. You must be underground.”
Hitoshi nodded.
“EIGHT!” The voice over the speaker caused the UA students to jump; the residents simply looked up. “Do I need to send Athena down there? She’s primed! Tink’s on her way, and I have Titan and Juggernaut ready to assist.”
“It’s fine, Glitch,” both boys relaxed, fond gazes turned up to the ceiling. “Let Tink do her thing, but hold the others. We have a fresh patrol starting later, and I need them ready in case there are big fish to reel in.”
“If you say so, but I kinda want to see if Jugger can hold that explosive asshole.”
The two boys paused, and Hitoshi almost laughed at the considering expressions.
“That… would be an interesting test.” The green-haired teen mused, gaze far off and calculating.
“No. I don’t care if you’ve found a use for him, I don’t want him in here either.” The dark-haired kid pouted, flashing a disapproving frown at his friend and the ceiling.
“I don’t either, the girl’s voice chimed back in. “But if he’s here, might as well make use of him.”
The boys turned to look out the front. Aizawa had released Bakugou, who had his hands stuffed into his pockets, his head bowed as if he might be apologizing, or at least accepting the consequences, however unhappily. Then Bakugou flashed a vicious glare toward the green-haired teen before stomping away into the rain.
“Are you coming to my place tonight?” The words were soft. Hitoshi almost missed them as the dark-haired boy stepped even closer to his friend. His posture was protective all over again.
“No,” the kid was tense, watching Bakugou walk away. “I’m going to stay here at the agency.” The fact that they considered Bakugou that kind of threat raised more questions than Hitoshi already had.
Everyone was silent as the supervising Heroes stalked back into the room.
“The rest of you will be quiet, polite, and unfailingly respectful,” Aizawa growled, gaze flickering red and ready to flash at the first hint of argument. There was a collective ‘yes, sensei” and then the group fell silent.
“Assuming you’re still willing to work with them.” Blockade stopped, giving the decision to Bakugou’s target.
“We’ll do the preliminary briefing and try a patrol first,” the guy sighed reluctantly, lips pulled into a slight frown. “If they can be team players, we can salvage the original plan.”
“They will be.” Aizawa glared at them hard enough to ensure they offered a second round of polite agreement.
“Then I guess we’ll get you your passes.” Blockade gestured to the receptionist, who got to work. “When you’re ready, take the elevator up. Don’t worry about pushing buttons, it knows which floor you have access to.”
The formidable hero ushered his people into the elevator and left the receptionist to finish with them.
While they waited, stepping up to take their passes one by one, the members of Class A exchanged glances. They were all dying to ask each other if anyone knew what the hell that was all about. Dying to know if anyone knew names, beyond the fact that the green-haired guy was apparently called “Eight” and the girl they could only hear was called “Glitch”.
Aizawa sorted them into two groups, and once they were on the elevator, Hitoshi finally took a big breath and let it out. “Holy Shit. What was that!”
“Who was that?” Uraraka added.
Aizawa had taken Mina, Sero, and Kirishima, leaving them with Jirou and Yaoyorozu.
“Eight is a support hero and frequently mentioned in any write-up where Agency Olympus is included.” Yaoyorozu offered, “Glitch is also a Support Hero, I'm afraid I don't know the other boy or anything about them. Except for Blockade, the agency is very private. Most of them are underground heroes.”
“And that shit show means it's going to stay private,” Jirou added with a shrug.
“We’re off to a bad start, alright,” Uraraka sighed. “Why would Aizawa Sensei ignore that Bakugou shouldn't be here?”
“He wouldn't.” Hitoshi mulled that fact. “Communication broke down somewhere and he's probably just as pissed as Olympus.”
“We don't need to wonder what he did,” Jirou twirled a jack thoughtfully, “but when he did it. Because that was personal, and it sounded like they expect him to attack him again.”
“And was that a nickname? Did he call him useless?” Uraraka sounded exasperated. They exchanged glances, equally uninformed and unsure, but the elevator announced that they had arrived, and the conversation came to an end.
“Welcome to the Arena.”
That's not ominous at all … Hitoshi rolled his shoulders, slouched like he didn't care, and followed the girls out.
They stepped out into a large, softly lit room. Most of the light came from the wall of windows in front of them. There was a set of very comfortable-looking couches in the corner, with a lamp tucked into the wedge of space left between them, and a low, round table in front.
There were pillows on the floor, a coffee cup, and an overstuffed notebook on the table as if someone had been sitting, using the couch as a backrest to work. A hoodie or jacket was roughly folded on the arm of the couch. The wall of windows had a scattering of large, vibrant plants, with one even in bloom. On the opposite side of the room was a U-shaped table with the open end facing an electronic whiteboard.
In the middle, dominating the space, was the green-haired teen. His hair was still damp, but he'd changed his clothes. The black compression tee was as revealing as the wet shirt had been, and Hitoshi wagered that it was part of his hero costume since the green piping on the shirt matched the green pants. The green pants were tucked into black boots.
Hitoshi glanced back at the couch… that hoodie matched those pants.
‘Eight’ stood in front of a tall, curved desk. He was standing, the chair kicked to the side, wearing a heavy visor that covered his eyes and odd dark green gloves that looked like they had toe beans. It was adorable, but Hitoshi was positive that it wasn't just to be cute.
He could be wrong. That guy could pull off cute, but Hitoshi accepted that this guy probably didn't do cute for fun.
On the guy's shoulder was something that reminded him of a beetle. Green with bright green eyes, just like the human it was attached to. The electronic eyes narrowed, and Hitoshi realized he'd been staring. He politely bowed his head and averted his gaze.
The rest of his class had joined him. The team from Aizawa's elevator looked chastised, or in Kirishima’s case, disgruntled. Everyone was either studying the room or the kid who had been the target of the drama.
Aizawa stepped away, joining Blockade at the desk on the far side of the room.
“Hourglass, once you get to Block 8, take the right down Ekon Street. Once you pass Gemini, you are clear to begin your home sweep. Gem once Hourglass passes, head up Ekon Street, and aim for the parking garage. Echo is in the air, Helios is en route, but I want to make sure that's clear before shift end.”
They couldn't hear the replies, and the guy was tapping and gesturing as if he was moving things they couldn’t see.
“Oracle on standby. Stay safe.”
Eight paused, tapping on air, before stepping away from the desk and pulling the visor off. He turned, looking over the group once again, finger tapping on the visor’s edge while he considered them. “I suppose if we’re down to civilized people, we can try this.”
“Jeeze, do you have to keep knocking him?” Kirishima scoffed, “What’d he ever do to you?”
“He attacked him for coming into the place where he works with his lunch.” Hitoshi drawled.
“Yeah, but they already blacklisted him!” Kirishima was openly offended on behalf of his friend.
“What did he do…” Eight set aside his headset and stepped forward. He was the shortest guy here, but his presence made up for it, and Kirishima took half a step back. “I suppose you admire his strength and his Quirk control?”
“Well, yeah, Bakubro is amazing.” Kirishima lifted his chin, proud of his friend, and Hitoshi rolled his eyes. The idiot didn’t see the trap, and it was too late to save him. Hitoshi really wasn’t ready for the reply.
The green-haired young man in front of them shrugged off his shirt and gestured to the faint burn scars that littered his shoulders, chest, and upper arms. “I'm the one he practiced on from the day his quirk came in, and mine didn’t.”
Kirishima froze, and Hitoshi felt the group freeze with him. If that were true, that was beyond bad. Hitoshi turned, looking for Aizawa.
“Does that answer your question?” The words were soft, yet sarcastic; his expression was almost neutral, but couldn’t quite mask the snarl.
“Put your shirt back on.” The other guy from the doorway scene arrived, and half of them startled. “You’re a walking thirst trap, and no one is going to be able to focus with your perfect pecs in their faces.”
Hitoshi bit back a laugh. Amen to that. What a way to break the tension. Eight replied with a snort of amusement, but shrugged his shirt back on as he turned away.
The dark-haired man wasn’t much older than they were, a year or two at most, but it didn’t look like he got out much, so maybe he was older and didn’t have any wear and tear from sun damage. He had bags under his eyes to rival Aizawa’s and his own. “The briefing is loaded if you still want to do it.”
“Is there a problem?” Blockade returned with Aizawa, who was looking at his students suspiciously.
“Just a little educational interlude,” Eight hummed, walking away from the group to take his place at the center of the table in front of the whiteboard, joining his coworker.
The guy no one seemed interested in introducing tested something at the table, and when he was satisfied, he walked back toward a door Hitoshi hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t even look at them. “Please don’t need me for anything.”
“Mood,” Sero chuckled quietly, and Hitoshi bit down on a smirk. It really was.
“Take a seat.” Blockade gestured to the chairs, sitting at the top of the U, directly facing the board.
Everyone filed in and sorted themselves out. Hitoshi didn’t miss when Aizawa sat Kirishima to his right, between himself and Blockade, and as far away from Eight as possible.
Eight seemed oblivious to the tension. Hitoshi glanced down at Jirou next to him. She was focused on Eight, and he could ask her later if the guy was as calm as he looked. Hitoshi suspected he wasn’t, but he did a really good job of hiding the fact.
“Okay,” Eight stepped back, swiping his hand up as if he were tossing something onto the screen, and an icon appeared, expanding to reveal three grainy photos most likely taken from street-side security cameras.
“The Black Locus crew: Static, Painwright, and Echoshade. Low-level villains with loose ties to yakuza and other same-size gangs. Involved in drug running as well as trafficking weapons and illegal support items.” Eight tapped the desk, flicked his fingers, and the desktop in front of each of them lit up with wrap sheets.
As if the whole table was a computer screen, except each of them had a personal spot exactly in front of their chair. Hitoshi tapped one of the pictures; it centered and enlarged so he could read it easily. He was tempted to slide to the side to see if it followed him.
“You’ve likely already seen those, yes?” Everyone nodded, though Hitosi was positive only half of them had actually read them. “Nothing in them is the whole truth, some of it is a straight-up lie, and then there’s a colossal misunderstanding that I totally exploited.”
Hitoshi looked up. Eight looked pleased with himself. Gleeful in a manic, ‘I have misbehaved ’ sort of way. At the top of the table, Blockade sighed heavily.
“Eight, what did you do?”
“Surveillance!” Eight flashed a bright, ‘I have been up to no good’ smile and tapped the board.
“Static, real name Mushin Mukō.” A sketch appeared on the board, hand-drawn of the man without his costume.
“Eight, where did you get that?” Tension radiated off the older hero, and Hitoshi swore the man aged right then and there.
“Surveillance.” Eight chirped, not turning around. “In the registry, his quirk is listed as 'White Noise, ' but it’s much more than that. He can disrupt electronic communication and surveillance equipment in an area centered around him. Up to half a kilometer, but I suspect he can push it further if he’s motivated. His team gets around that by using old-fashioned walkie-talkies.”
Eight didn’t slow down, and he didn’t turn around to look at his mentor.
“Painwright, real name Kurushimi Kashin.” Another sketch replaced the first, and Hitoshi wondered if Eight drew them. Like the first, it was casual, the man behind the mask. “In the registry, his quirk is listed as 'Hives', causing an allergic reaction on touch, and that is a straight-up lie. He has a touch-based quirk that interacts with the target's nervous system to cause debilitating pain. Fortunately, no one has suffered permanent damage yet, but I suspect that repeat or prolonged exposure will cause chronic pain and disability.”
Eight took a breath, and a series of images for someone new appeared on the whiteboard and on the desktop in front of them.
“Which brings us to Kurushimi Gekitō, the so-called ‘king of pain’, Agonarch. A former yakuza enforcer who vanished when his family went down. Police suspect him in a string of cases after that, but he disappeared entirely almost 20 years ago. I have a case file that links him to all of this, the murder of his brother, an apartment fire… He’s our lynchpin.”
Eight barreled on, still refusing to turn around, fingers tapping to send new images to the desk in front of them and then casting the report and image to the larger board.
“Last, Echoshade, real name Tamashiiri Reimi.” Every official image had her in a heavy cloak that covered most of her face, her eyes hidden behind a dark visor, but here she was as a civilian.
“Eight…” Blockade's voice was stern, “What did you do?”
“Surveillance,” Eight quipped again, turning to flash a smile at his boss that held just a smidge of apology. “Her quirk is misunderstood, and,” the smile turned impish, “I figured it out.”
“It’s listed as ‘soul seer ’,” around the table, everyone nodded. It was why the group was so hard to catch. She could see people at a different frequency, so even Hagakure couldn’t sneak up on her.
“The catch is, like Bakugou, her quirk doesn’t think I’m people, making me the Invisible Man.”
‘When his quirk came in, and mine didn’t ’... the words stabbed through Hitoshi like a bolt of electricity. Eight was quirkless. He hadn’t really thought about that, but suddenly it was entirely relevant. “She’s seeing quirks.”
Eight turned and pointed to him, “Exactly!” And then spun back around, with a flick of a finger, Eight flung a schematic onto the board.
“I isolated where their base is, and they are so confident in their quirks that they don’t post guards.” He was barely containing a laugh. “I walked right in.”
Blockade looked like he’d seen a ghost. “You went into the field.”
“I went into the field,” Eight agreed, starting a grainy video that must have been taken with a camera attached to him. “Static has a passive quirk; all that changes is the size of the area affected, and at home, he lets it all hang out. It was challenging to clean up the recording, but we salvaged enough of it to be useful. Once I got underground, I found an exit into an old subway. I’ve been monitoring that entrance, and we can tell when they use it by when the feed cuts to static.”
“Who did you take with you?”
“On a potential suicide mission? No one, that would be rude.”
“Problem Child…” Blockade sounded exhausted. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Statistically, I’m not making it to 30, but I’m going to live to the absolute fullest until then and that means taking risks to get shit done. And I-” he gestured to the video, “got shit done.”
“Sorry, boss, we didn’t know about this insanity until it was already done.” Glitch’s voice chimed in from yet another speaker hidden in the ceiling.
The video continued to play, recording Eight’s solo tour of the villain's base.
“The light is different,” Yaoyorozu raised her hand, “did you make multiple trips?”
Eight offered a pained smile. “You are observant,” and it sounded like he really wished she wasn’t. “Yes, it took me three trips to get past them and into the tunnel system.”
Hitoshi was positive that Blockade wanted to bang his head on the desk or grab Eight and shake. But done was done. Aizawa favored the other man with a sympathetic look, and the conversation turned to technicalities. It was interesting. Eight had a solid grasp on their quirks, eventually getting around to the fact that he was disappointed that Kaminari wasn’t with them.
“I’m pretty sure Chargebolt can counter Static’s quirk, but I won’t know for sure without testing it. Hopefully, he’s available when this goes down.”
Eight had a wish list of desired heroes, and Hitoshi was pretty sure his class felt slighted because most of them weren’t on it. “I’ll manage with whoever I have, but I think these quirks are the best counters for what I expect us to be dealing with. There are a couple more people who might come into play.” He pointed to the screens, and Hitoshi tapped, flipping through the digital briefing. It was summarized into tidy bite-sized pieces that didn’t give away too much, as if Eight suspected that most of them wouldn’t be involved.
Hitoshi was going to make sure he was.
-.-