Frightened

-- I: I :I--

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It was quiet again.
And Hawks did not like the quiet.
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As the Crimson-Feathered Hero mindlessly played with his hair, twisting and turning the strands of gold between his fingers, he had come to one of his many conclusions:
Hero Meetings were pointless.
Because, in truth, they were. They really, really were.
The off-white walls were maddening, and the decade old carpet had faded in color. Filing Cabinets stood, one by one, in an undecorated line, each looking somehow more dull than the last. Inside, no doubt, dozens upon hundreds of Hero-themed information would be sitting, waiting for someone to read them.
You would never catch Hawks on that job, however. He had graduated to the big leagues: Risking his life, 24/7-365.

He had never complained, of course. Money and Fame does that to a person.
And he wasn't dead yet, right? Why should he care about some statistic?
After all,
Only 2 out of every 5 Heroes die at the hands of the enemy.
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Endeavor shifted in his seat, catching Hawk's attention. His head didn't move, but his eyes flicked from the projector to the Number One Hero. To Hawks, Endeavor was like a god- with his sturdy frame and bright blue eyes, his determination, and the way he made people feel safe, made Hawks decide something else:
That was the man he aspired to be like.
And he was determined to make it happen.

As the meeting droned on, Hawks stole more quick glances at Endeavor. He had a reserve of notes in his head, with its only purpose to hold things he noticed as their time together- though as short as it may be- went on.

"--and that's what we know." The Commission President sighed. His tone was flat and tired.

Jeanist shifted in his seat, his arms tightly folded.
Mt. Lady pulled at a curl of her hair.
Hawks slouched in his chair.
Endeavor sat up.

"The Yakuza have been a pain for long enough already," he remarked, "Should we let a ragtag group of Angsty Teenagers start climbing up their ladder, the public will be quick to turn on us."
The President readjusted his glasses.
Endeavor continued.
"There are four main members. Toga, Shigiraki, Dabi.."
He cleared his throat.
"..And Kurogiri."
Eraserhead and Present Mic did not move.
Still, he continued.
"We should have more than a pamphlets' worth of information on these individuals. By all they've done, they should be considered as dangerous as The Kira." He intertwined his fingers, bringing his chin forward to rest behind them. "And we do not want a repeat of that fiasco."
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Soon, the meeting was adjourned.
Pro heroes from nearly every precinct had come together to discuss the game plan for the growing population of Meta Liberation Members. Some had described it as a parasite, some like a cancer.
One had chosen "smoke that lingers after a raging fire". "The kind that stains your fingers black," commented another.
Hawks had decided to keep quiet.
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Hawks made his way down the busy sidewalk, a swarm of passersby crowding beside him. His thoughts were drowned by snippets of everyday conversations. Feet scurried and tripped over each other. Shoulders touched and bumped against those of strangers.
Rush hour.
Hawks turned to his right, into a desolate alleyway. No one dare followed him.
Fear of the Yakuza and Villians intoxicated civilians like Bitter Booze you couldn't get enough of, yet their addiction only grew as talk of Villian Utopias and Quirk Eradication arose.

Hawks looked both ways as he shoved an unmarked folder into his Satchel bag.

He had no way to tell if the rumors were true. No group of Villians or Low-Tier thugs had become ballsy enough to brag about any Quirkless Utopias as of late. He wondered if his assignment would entail such a thing.

As he walked closer to a deserted and boarded up building, he rummaged for his key.
The fifth floor. He had reminded himself. He entered, and the heavy door slammed behind him. Keep your cool.

He began his depart up crumbling and weathered concrete stairs. All the way up to the fifth floor. Hawks shuddered at the eerie coolness of the dark stairwell, his feathers ruffled.
His shuddering subsided as he climbed higher into the darkness.

The air reeked of Cinnamon and Smoke.