The basement area was a place lower than even the underground escape tunnel system within the MLA's main building. It always stunk with the dirty air of sewer water that filtered through it above the areas we walked, there was also the hint of wafting old blood that stuck to the concrete.
I kept my hands in my pockets and continued to follow Destro, who had ordered both me and Nagant to follow him down here.
It was weird, only three days until the big attack and he specifically called us two out to follow him to a place where many people do not come back from.
Nagant walked beside me, her expression unreadable but I noticed there was tension in her frame. She would tap her thigh three times, pause and then beat again. A sniper's count. A habit.
At the far end of the room, Geten leaned against a rusted support beam, arms crossed, face covered but there was still an air of frost that evaded his mouth as he breathed. Between him and Destro stood a chair. And in it, a man.
He was shirtless, torso crisscrossed with fresh scars, thin and precise. He was clearly only meant to be hurt. A cloth sack covered his head, damp with sweat or tears, probably both. His breathing was ragged, each inhale shuddering like a broken engine.
Destro spread his arms in mock welcome. "Kobe. Nagant. So glad you could join us." His voice was smooth, rehearsed. The kind of tone you'd use to introduce a business proposal, not a torture session.
I didn't want to bother him with pleasantries. "What is this?"
Destro's smile didn't reach his eyes. "An object lesson." He gripped the sack and yanked it off.
The man blinked against the sudden light, his face a mess of bruises, his lips split and swollen. His eyes darted frantically, first to Destro, then to Geten, then to the blank screen on the far wall. A whimper escaped him.
"Ah, you recognize it, don't you?" Destro tapped a remote. The screen flickered to life, displaying a quiet suburban street. A woman walked hand-in-hand with a little girl, maybe six or seven, her pink backpack bouncing with each step. An older woman, grandmother, probably, stood on the porch, waving.
The man in the chair convulsed, his scream muffled by Geten's hand clamping over his mouth. Ice crawled across his lips, his tongue, freezing solid before Geten yanked. A wet snap echoed. The man's screams dissolved into choked, guttural sobs as blood spilled down his chin.
Destro tsked. "Save the rest of his face, Geten. I want him watching."
The screen zoomed in. The little girl laughed at something her mother had said, swinging their joined hands.
Then the house erupted.
Fire swallowed the porch first, the blast wave ripping outward like a flower blooming in a fast-forward. The grandmother vanished in the inferno. The mother shoved her daughter forward, too late, before the flames consumed them both. The screen cut to black.
The man made a sound I'd never heard before, something between a howl and a whimper, raw and animal.
Nagant's fingers stilled at her side.
Destro turned to us, serene. "This man was tasked with infiltrating the League, much like you, Kobe. But he was found getting a little chatty. "Told the heroes about some warehouses for the Nomu. And the heroes acted on it already, just days before our attack. They even managed to get some thugs and lock them away too." His voice dipped. "And even some of our own soldiers."
I stared at the screen's afterimage burned into my vision. The little girl's backpack, bright and pink, bouncing as she skipped. Was now burnt and charred and barely recognizable.
"This," Destro said, "is what happens to those who betray us," He straightened, adjusting his cuffs. "No family? No matter. We'll just keep you alive long enough to regret it. And if you're particularly unlucky..." He smiled, "Well, the League's Nomu conversion process is lengthy."
Silence.
Nagant exhaled through her nose. "Is that all?"
Destro's eyebrows twitched.
I rolled my shoulders, feigning boredom. "Threats only work on those get scared too easily."
For a heartbeat, the room went cold, not Geten's ice, bloodlust. Then Destro laughed, clapping his hands. "Good! That's what I like about you two. Steel spines." He gestured towards Geten. "Finish up. Three hours minimum. Ten hours max."
Geten cracked his knuckles. The man in the chair shook.
Nagant turned on her heel. I followed.
Behind us, the first scream split the air.
I didn't bother looking back.
***
(1 Day Earlier)
The office smelled like cedar and burnt wood, with an undercurrent of wet dog that clung to the upholstery. Sunlight filtered in through the half-closed blinds, striping the floor in alternating bars of gold and shadow. Hound Dog sat across from Bakugou, his massive frame folded into an armchair that groaned under his weight. His claws were filed blunt, but Bakugou already knew that the pro was able to extract them to a long and sharpened size whenever he pleased.
Bakugou's leg bounced in time with the quick taps that they were making.
"Kirishima's fine," Hound Dog said, voice gruff but measured. "Cracked ribs, but Recovery Girl fixed him up quick. He's not mad."
Bakugou's jaw locked. Of course he's not mad. Stupid, forgiving bastard. His fingers dug into his thighs, the fabric of his uniform pants bunching under his grip.
Hound Dog's nostrils flared, a quick, deliberate sniff. "Your cortisol levels are spiking. You're holding your breath."
Bakugou exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'm fine."
A low, rumbling sound vibrated in Hound Dog's chest. Not quite a growl. More like the hum of an engine idling. "You blasted your close friend into a wall because he touched your shoulder."
Because I felt his fingers and thought they were hers.
The memory hit like a flashbang, cold metal against his jaw, the prick of a needle, her laughter, high and girlish, as she carved into him like he was a piece of her dinner she was about to tear into. The flash of the digital camera. He was weak.
His palms sparked.
Hound Dog didn't flinch. "Breathe, kid. Four in. Hold Seven. Out Eight."
Bakugou snarled but obeyed, sucking in air through clenched teeth. The numbers rattled in his skull like loose change. Four. Seven. Eight. His heartbeat thudded against his ribs, too loud, too fast.
"You're not sleeping," Hound Dog observed. His ears twitched, left, then right, tracking the minute hitch in Bakugou's breathing. "Nightmares?"
Every damn night.
Bakugou's teeth ground together. "What's it matter? I'm functioning."
"Are you?" Hound Dog leaned forward, his muzzle wrinkling slightly. "You're a lot more jumpy. Your quirk control's slipped a dangerous amount. And your classmates are walking on eggshells around you."
The words landed like a punch. His quirk... it was strong. He knew since he was young that if he didn't use restraint, that he would kill people if he didn't hold back. That's the only reason Kirishima still had cracked some ribs even though he had his quirk up, although barely.
It made his stomach twist. My classmates are scared...? Not in the way he had always wanted, not respect, not awe, but pity. Like he was some fragile thing about to shatter.
Hound Dog's tail gave a single, slow swish against his chair. "The operation that's coming up. First years are running support in evac during the Hero's Eve security sweep."
Bakugou's spine straightened. He already knew, sure they weren't given all the time in the world. But with the mention that the League of Villains would be there he trained even harder thinking that he would get the chance to smoke out and take down Himiko Toga... if he didn't freeze upon seeing her.
"You're staying on campus."
His world tilted.
For a second, Bakugou couldn't process the words. They bounced around his skull, meaningless. Staying. Campus. Not going.
His voice came out flat. "What?"
Hound Dog's ears pinned back, just for a second. "You're not cleared for field work."
Not cleared.
Not good enough.
Not...
Bakugou's vision tunneled. The room was too hot. Too small. His palms burned, sweat beading along his hairline. He should be yelling. Screaming. Demanding to know who the hell thought they could bench him.
But the words never came out.
Because Hound Dog was right.
And that was worse.
A sound escaped him, half gasp, half choke, before he could bite it down. His throat burned. Don't you dare cry. Don't you fucking dare.
Hound Dog didn't comment. Just reached into his desk and slid a box of tissues across the coffee table. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Bakugou didn't move.
After a moment, Hound Dog sighed through his nose. "This isn't punishment." His claws flexed against his knees. "You've been through hell, kid. No one expects you to bounce back after a couple weeks."
I do.
Bakugou's nails bit into his palms. All his life, he'd been told he was the best. The strongest. The future. And now? Now he was being told to sit on the sidelines like some useless extra.
Because you're broken.
The thought lodged in his chest like shrapnel.
Hound Dog's ears perked suddenly. He tilted his head, listening to something Bakugou couldn't hear. "Your heart rate's climbing again." He stood, moving to the window to crack it open. Cool air rushed in, carrying the distant shouts of students training on the grounds. "Breathe, kid. Just breathe."
Bakugou sucked in a shuddering gulp of air. The scent of cut grass and ozone flooded his lungs. Grounded him.
Hound Dog watched him for a long moment before speaking again. "I'm gonna teach you some grounding techniques. For when it gets bad." He tapped his chest. "Five things you can see."
Bakugou blinked. "Hah?"
"Work with me Kat."
Grudgingly accepting the just thought of nickname, Bakugou scanned the room. "Desk. Chair. Your ugly ass tie."
Hound Dog's lips pulled back in a toothy grin. "Two more."
"... Blinds. Coffee stain on the carpet."
"Good. Four things you can touch."
Bakugou flexed his fingers. "Uniform. Couch. My own damn hands." A pause. "The tissue box, I guess."
"Three things you can hear."
Bakugou closed his eyes. Distantly, someone laughed, Kaminari it sounded like. A bird chirped outside. And beneath it all, the steady tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall.
He listed them.
Hound Dog nodded. "Two things you can smell."
"Sweat and Cedar."
"One thing you can taste."
Bakugou swiped his tongue over his teeth. "Blood. In my cheek."
Hound Dog's tail gave a single, approving thump against the floor. "Good. Use that when the world gets too loud and the walls feel like their coming in."
Bakugou didn't answer. His throat felt raw.
Hound Dog checked the clock. "We're out of time." He hesitated, then added. "You're not weak for needing help, Bakugou."
The words were like another slap.
Bakugou stood abruptly, chair screeching against the floor. "Whatever." His voice was rough. "Are we done?"
Hound Dog studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yeah. We're done."
Bakugou turned on his heel and left before his face could betray him.
The door clicked shit behind him.
Hound Dog sighed, running a clawed hand down his muzzle.
Outside, Bakugou made it three steps down the hall before his vision blurred.
He didn't wipe his eyes.
***
The towers panoramic windows framed the city below like a sprawled-out circuit board, its lights flickering in the predawn gloom. Destro stood with his palms pressed against the glass, the cold seeping into his skin. Three in the morning.
Hero's Eve.
The words tasted like victory. By this time tomorrow, the streets would run red with the remnants of hero society, and the Meta Liberation Army would rise from its ashes. Koku Hanabata's ascension to Minister of Justice was already in motion, even Nezu wouldn't see them until it was too late. The rat would be too busy fighting bureaucratic wildfires to interfere.
But All For One...
Destro's fingers tightened around his glass of bourbon. The man was a relic, a cancer that had festered in the shadows for centuries. Seven generations of quirks stolen, refined and weaponized. A man who didn't just play the game, he rewrote the rules.
And he would come for Destro.
The glass trembled in his grip. Not from fear, never fear, but from the sheer weight of the threat. All For One wasn't a rival, he was a force of nature. And nature does not negotiate.
A knock at the door.
"Enter."
Kaede stepped inside, her heels clicking against the marble. Her quirk was very useful for what he was thinking, Memory Dive, it was like a scalpel in a world of blunt instruments. She could peel back a man's mind like an onion, layer by layer, until all his secrets lay bare.
Destro turned to her. "I need you to verify a liability."
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. The screen flashed with an unknown number.
His jaw clenched. Speak of the devil.
He answered.
"Destro," All For One crooned, his voice like oil sliding over glass. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Destro forced a smile into his tone. "I need Kurogiri."
A pause. Then laughter, rich, mocking, the sound of a man who'd long since stopped pretending to be human. "Tomura's favourite toy? Whatever for?"
"Partners share resources," Destro said smoothly.
"Partners," All For One mused. "And yet, you've never asked me for my help before. Why now?"
Destro's thumb dug into the glass. "Kobe. I want him vetted."
Another laugh. "Ah, the paper boy. You suspect him?"
"I suspect everyone."
"Wise." The line crackled with static. "But tell me, Destro, why wait until the eve of the war to check his loyalty? Your predecessor would have rooted out traitors from the moment such a big operation like this were to take place."
A vein pulsed in Destro's temple. The insinuation, that he was lesser, that he'd been sloppy, burned like acid.
"Kurogiri," he repeated, each syllable clipped. "For one hour, even less. Kaede will handle the rest."
A hum, "Very well. But remember, this favour isn't free."
The line went dead.
Destro exhaled, his breath fogging the glass. The city below glittered, oblivious.
"Kaede." He called out.
"Yes boss." Her voice wasn't as stern as her appearance, instead she seemed very childlike.
"Tell me again, when you read a memory how long can you keep it?" Destro asked. Kaede's Meta ability was very unique and it was very useful in keeping order around the MLA.
"Well, I can keep it indefinitely, but very old memories that I haven't thought of for more than five years it filters out to keep space for the new information coming in and keeps my brain fresh." She replied.
That was good. More than good. Destro did suspect Kobe, just like he suspected Nagant, and almost every other member of the MLA.
But out of all of them, it was only Kobe who's prowess in tactic, rhetoric and combat outshined almost everyone who Destro had come against prior.
He was witty and could deflect suspicion as soon as it was pointed at him, even though he was quiet he was welcoming, making it easy for just about anyone to approach him, or at least see him as unassuming and non-threatening.
Destro wanted to catch him unaware and use Kaede to scour through his memories and see what he was planning, because he would be a fool to truly believe that the boy was on his side.
The reason he had placed him in such proximity to the League was because he believed that he would have got himself caught by them, being so close to All For One Destro thought that he would have tried to snatch at him, his meta ability and maybe died then.
Of course there was still the chance that Kobe could have weakened them from the inside, but he hasn't truly reported back much of anything that he could have used to great effect. Other than some locations on nomu, or where some of their more private bases are, as well as information on how some of them seem to have evolved. Destro was happy with that but to him it still was not enough.
But if Kobe had pre-emptively been placing counters against him...
"Kaede," he spoke up with a slow urgency. "I need you to delve into Koku's mind and store all his memories in you."
"All of them?" She asked, he voice went a pitch higher. She had never done so much before.
"Yes. As long as he still has them." He responded. "This is just a small contingency."
All For One could split and combine meta abilities to make completely different and new ones. Destro would try his hand at something similar.