Chapter Text
The audio feed crackled as the new sound cut in.
“Hello, world.” The voice was smooth and soft. It would have been comforting if not for the circumstances. A hush fell over the busy square as the people turned to stare at the once bright screens all advertising different things. Now, they all had a strange symbol over a grey background.
“I just wanted to give you all a formal introduction. I promise that I’m no villain. In fact, all that I want is to be a hero, but I don’t have a flashy, heroic quirk. I understand that the hero agencies and schools won’t accept the quirkless or those with weak quirks under the pretense of safety. As if they cared about the safety of those who they leave to the dogs, but I digress.
“I know that taking people like us would be a huge liability, not because we’re useless or frail, but because that’s how the public sees us. In their eyes, it’d be like sending a very enthusiastic child into battle. Mortality rates for heroes have always been high, and as soon as one of these less fortunate died in the line of duty like any other hero, the agency would receive a wave of backlash. The public would spin it to seem like the agency was just using them as fodder.
“I understand this dilemma that agencies and schools face, and so I forgive you for trying to crush my dreams, and I do mean “trying.” You see, I have come up with a new solution.
“I’ll just become a hero anyways. I’ll fight crime and turn criminals over to the police, find evidence for crimes, and the like, but I will do all of this under my own name. The police can claim that they did everything to stop me, so that when I die that noble death, everyone can win. No one will be at fault but me.
“Don’t get me wrong, chief. I’m not crazy, delusional, or even seeking vigilante justice. I know exactly where this declaration places us, which is no problem to me. See, if I can manage to do what a hero does all while managing to play this game of cat and mouse with you, then I will prove once and for all just how much anyone can accomplish, regardless of their quirk.
“So Chief, I look forward to working with you. Citizens, I look forward to working for you. And Criminals,” a brief pause, a chuckle, “I look forward to becoming the ghost in your nightmares. Now, let the game begin.”
With that, the screens went dark for a second before cutting back to their normal feed. In a small apartment a few miles away, surrounded by screens scrolling code and a couple of microphones, a smile spread across his face as he ended the connection.
Barely taking his eyes off the scope, he made another note in the messy journal beside him. He made sure to keep one hand on the rifle at all times to maintain its balance on the tripod. The muscles in his legs were starting to cramp from staying still for so long. A bead of sweat rolled from where the headphones pressed against his skin.
The man of interest today was calmly walking down the street, one hand in his coat pocket and the other on his phone. Izuku noted the time so that he could go back later and search through the phone records. A cigarette hung from the man’s lip and bounced as he spoke.
“Yeah, I’ve got contacts for that, Shig. Who do you think I am, some two-bit thug? I can get you anything your heart desires for the right price. I’ve actually got an in at one of the major companies. This shit is legit.”
Izuku perked up at this, checking the recorded again to make sure it was working. He probably wouldn’t include any of this in a proof package, but he liked to have record of it anyway.
“Just put together a list of what you’ll need and send it to me. I gotta go, it’s time for my next appointment.” He flipped the cheap phone closed and stowed it, then leaned casually against a wall.
Izuku made another time note as the suspicious man tapped a rhythm on the metal door next to him. He might want to use it later. The sound of a bolt clicking was almost inaudible through the headphones. The man quickly opened the door and slipped in, softly shutting it behind him. The bolt clicked again.
Gently laying the rifle across the open case beside him, Izuku rolled onto his back and stretched his sore limbs. He would have to tag and file his data tonight, so he looked back through his notes to make clarifications or additional analyses while letting the blood flow regulate.
With great care to remain hidden and unnoticed, Izuku began packing the gun and equipment back into his bags. The book, headphones, and sound amplifier went into a regular canvas bag while the gun went into its case. The case was cleverly shaped like a guitar case. To everyone else, he looked like a starving artist from a slum.
He peeked out of the back door to the building at the next street over from the one he had been watching. When he was sure that there were no other people, he slipped out into the descending darkness and closed the door softly behind him. Izuku melted into the shadows dripping from the sides of the buildings as he made his way back to his temporary home, making sure to zig-zag, double back on himself, and never take the same route back-to-back.
The police were baffled at the first occurrence. There was absolutely no protocol for a situation like this. One moment it was business as usual and then the next the Chief was going outside to take a smoke break and finding a notoriously violent thief who had taken to breaking into houses but had managed to avoid the police thus far.
He was unconscious, bound and propped up against the building by the door with a note pinned to his lapel. The note stated simply “A gift for the Chief.” Beside the man was a cardboard box, quite similar to the ones that the police office used to hold case files, with the name of the criminal and his moniker dubbed by the press at the beginning of his career.
Chief Tsuragamae immediately ordered for the area to be locked down. The criminal was contained, and footage looked over. The men on the ground couldn’t find anything from witnesses as to who had staged everything, and they got even less from the cameras. Maybe a minute before the Chief went outside a note appeared over the camera screen. There was no sign of the perpetrator before and everything was already in place after. What’s even more infuriating was the content of the note.
“Please hold, the stage is being set. Thank you for your patience and understanding.” He was playing with them, the officers concluded.
They dusted box and all of its contents, carefully ensuring that nothing was damaged in the process. All they got from the contents, however, were the prints of the unconscious criminal and his associates and victims. Even the criminal himself had no information to give them on how he ended up at the police station. As far as he could remember, he was scoping out a new house when everything went dark and he woke up in a cell.
The box contained various small, clear plastic bags with various items inside. Each bag was labeled clearly and sealed tightly; what’s more, each label corresponded with a printed chart briefly describing the items. There were also images in an envelope, each numbered on the back, and printed documentation of call logs, transactions, electronic messages, etc.
One the inside of the lid was a plastic pocket sized for an A4 sheet of paper. Inside was a well-formatted document, about ten pages long. The chief personally read through it, intrigued by the whole situation. At best, he was expecting some sort of brag, or a thinly veiled threat perhaps. What he didn’t expect to find was an incredibly detailed report on the criminal. All evidence from the box was referenced in connection with his crimes. There was a timeline, short background on the man, even suggestions on what charges should be considered. The damn thing even had a table of contents.
Tsuragamae had never seen anything like this in his entire career. He was at a loss, but still turned a copy of the documents over to the district prosecutor’s office so that they could make their case when it was taken to court. All in all, the trial was open and closed in a whirlwind. The prosecutors couldn’t stop talking about how it was the easiest case they’d ever received. All of the work was done for them. The entire system was aflutter with talk of the incident.
But it was far from over. Criminals and boxes would show up at the precinct regularly. After a few years of finding nothing, the police force had almost stopped trying to figure out who was behind it. This mystery individual was doing the jobs of several departments all in secrecy and expecting absolutely no repayment or recognition. After the first, there wasn’t even a tag on the criminals. They hadn’t been claimed, but the timeline was unmistakable. There was never any doubt as to who was handing these bad guys over.
Every interview with those captured revealed about the same thing—they had no idea who did it. They didn’t even know they were being watched beforehand. They all thought they were alone. None complained of any lingering pain or injuries; there was no abuse to speak of. They spoke of their assailant like a vengeful spirit.
Reactions were varied. The police force fell into a dichotomy; half believed this vigilante was doing them and society a favor while the other half speculated that there had to be a reason he hadn’t just joined the force if this was what he wanted to do which meant that he had to be doing something illegal. He was known as a wanted criminal vigilante, but he also had a growing fan base amongst the police and civilians alike.
It was the criminals who finally coined his name—one deserving of the fear he struck and the protective air he extended to the populace—Sorei. A terrifying, otherworldly force or a protective ancestor, depending on which side you stood.
Izuku sat at the bar holding a mixed drink that he was nursing only as an excuse to still be there. The music was turned up, but not so loud that he couldn’t hear some of the conversations around him. One conversation in particular had piqued his interest. It seemed to be some kind of drug deal, which wasn’t normally his speed, but a couple of words made it stand out from the norm.
From what he could gather, the men behind him were trying to subtly carry out a transaction for some sort of date rape drug. Drugs didn’t particularly bother him so long as the only ones getting hurt were willing participants, those situations could wait for police interference, but this certainly crossed a line.
Their sights were set on a lovely young woman seated at a small table close to the bar, if their constant glances were anything to go off of. Her hair was pulled up into a messy high ponytail and she was stunningly dressed for the club scene. She had been with a few other girls at first, but they had seemed to wander off leaving her with just the small, edgy, purple haired woman beside her. Their body language shut out the rest of the club scene as they laughed and talked together over drinks.
It was when the purple haired woman left that Izuku really tuned in to what was going on. One of the men, the buyer, waited only a moment before taking his chance to saddle up to the woman and try to strike up a conversation. He was openly staring at her chest which she politely pretended not to notice while trying to hint that she wasn’t interested in any way.
Then she made the fatal mistake. She looked over her shoulder for her friend just long enough for the man to drop something into her drink. As soon as he saw it, Izuku downed the rest of his drink and slapped a bill on the counter underneath the empty glass. He made his way towards the dance floor and just as he passed the table, swapped their drinks.
Izuku rounded the table and turned his attention towards the woman, almost with his back to the man. “How crazy it is to see you here? It’s been forever! Come dance with me, we have to catch up.” He offered her his hand but made no move toward her aside from that. He just tilted his head and flicked his eyes towards the man.
She seemed to catch on and smiled back, nodding her head and taking his hand to stand up. Once on her feet, she let go and he took a step back, leading her away.
At a suitable distance he turned to face her again and offered an awkward smile, scratching the back of his head nervously. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you’d want it but I figured I would offer you an out. He drugged your drink; I would hate if something happened and I did nothing.” At her shocked expression, he held his hands up as if to calm a frightened animal, panicking. Talking to girls wasn’t exactly his forte. “Don’t worry, don’t worry; that guy’s not hurting anyone. In fact, I switched your drinks. You’ll probably get to watch that asshole drug himself before I phone it in. Just enjoy your night, and please be extra careful when you aren’t with all of your friends. Tomorrow you can call the police station down the road and they’ll help you press charges and provide information.”
Izuku wove back through the crowd, leaving her there slightly stunned but still smiling. The asshole in question was still in the same seat Izuku had left him, scowl on his face and taking large swigs from the drink in his hand, which, he noted, was not the one the man had approached the table with. The sight made Izuku smile as he settled in to wait and watch the drugs take hold.
It didn’t take long before the man was swaying in his seat. Once he was certain that the man would be easy to control, he made his move. “Hey, dude, you don’t look so hot. Why don’t you let me help you find a taxi and get home?”
The man looked up blearily and just nodded. Izuku helped him to his feet and walked him out of the bar. He made eye contact with the dark-haired woman before leaving and she winked at him. It made him blush.
Thankfully, the police station wasn’t far from the bar, so he figured he would just walk the man in. He made sure to pull the fashion mask out of his pocket and slip it onto his face before entering, though.
There was a receptionist in uniform when they entered the station. He looked up and jumped out of his seat, coming over to help Izuku lower the other man into a chair. Izuku explained the interaction, giving the name of the bar and approximate time intervals for when they looked into the tapes for evidence.
The look on the officer’s face set Izuku at ease. He had been worried that, when he dropped the scoundrel off at the station, the situation would be brushed off—especially since there was no victim in this instance. Izuku was familiar with the justice system and how easily cases like this could slip through the cracks if someone on the force didn’t care enough to push the issue.
“I hear you have an interesting perspective on this Sorei phenomenon.” The news host was a pretty woman with blonde hair and no visible quirk manifestations. Her body was angled between the camera and a man with horns, one of which was sawed or snapped off. A PIP tagline superimposed over his chest branded him as Daikaku Miyagi, Superhero Specialist.
He adjusted in his seat, resting his hands in front of him. “I study various data sets related to heroes. The information is used for creating the hero rankings. Most importantly, I’d like you to direct your attention to these figures we’ve collected concerning the trials.” The man gestured to a logo behind them which flicked to a chart of numbers. The columns were labeled Sorei, Top 100, All Heroes, and Police; the rows were labeled Conviction Rate, Trial Length (days), and Evidence Entries.
“You can see here that the average conviction rate for Sorei is higher than that of even the current top heroes. This means his cases lead to more guilty verdicts rather than acquittals, mistrials, or insanity rulings. What’s significant about this is that court system places heavy emphasis on the testimonies of heroes. Sorei, however, obviously cannot provide a testimony. Without a professional hero license, his testimony also wouldn’t hold much sway in a court of law.”
“Well, how is that possible, Mr. Daikaku? Surely, he isn’t convincing the defendants to confess to their crimes, so are the police picking up the slack?” Her interest was feigned, and her question leading. Her smile and voice were painfully fake, leaving no question that her contribution to all of this was scripted.
“No, actually.” He acted as if she were as genuinely interested as he. Izuku almost felt bad for him, or maybe bad for her. “Sorei includes a file box with each criminal he turns over. It’s actually the only way we can attribute the cases to him. He leaves no other calling card and the criminals never have any idea how they ended up immobilized at the station. Anyway, those boxes contain carefully bagged and tagged evidence, absolutely free of contamination. They even come with a handy report analyzing and connecting everything together.”
The screen between them flashed to an aesthetic, staged shot of one of his boxes. The report had a few highlighter and red pen marks across it. Izuku finally shut the tv off, turning back to his monitor.