The girl bowed and left the room in a hurry, nearly tripping over her feet as she did so. Geten watched her go, her lips pursed. Her behaviour reminded her of that messenger at her lodgings, but while she had smirked at the boy's cowardice just a few days ago, she felt uneasiness coil around her stomach.
Do they all look at me like that? How long has it been since I've been in the city?
She rarely ever walked down a street, not having any need to with her cryokinesis. Transporting herself with her ice was much preferable to reducing herself by commuting alongside the other soldiers in the MLA. The few times she interacted with them...they always had the same look on their faces.
She put those thoughts aside and returned to an even more unpleasant subject: the book in her hand that she had requested the girl bring to her. It was familiar to her like a mother to her infant. The same indented red cover with its engravement of the symbol of the MLA. The same title emblazoned with gold.
Meta Liberation War.
She knew the book back to front. If prompted by anyone, she could recite the pledge, the paragraphs or the sign off by Destro in a heartbeat. She had spent years memorising every key sentence, every declaration made by the founder of the Army she belonged to, and so on.
So why am I holding it in my hand?
Well, for one, she needed something to keep her distracted while she was stuck in the hospital ward, thanks to a certain fire-user and a dumb pact made just an hour or so ago.
"Ok, five day hospitalisation, doc's orders." Dabi turned to leave the room.
"No, I'm leaving tomorrow," Geten shot back, crossing her arms.
"Uh huh, because you'd be fully recovered, right?"
She paused, searching for a retort. "You can't make me stay here."
Even to her, it sounded childish, and Dabi's choked laughter told her he was thinking the same way. "Tell you what, what's your favourite food?"
The question caught her off-guard. She blinked twice, wondering if that question came from him. "I don't have one."
"Bullshit. Everyone has one."
"Unlike you, I'm not that much of an adolescent to show preferences for food. I eat whatever's there."
"It's something cold, isn't it? Soba?"
"How – wha –" She spluttered. "No, no it's not."
"You chill here until Friday, and I'll get you soba."
"Even if I did like it, I could just get it myself." She was hoping her expression wasn't betraying how much she liked the noodles.
"Not in Deika City, obviously. You think this shithole has any good food?"
"We can't just leave –" Her exasperation was overpowered by his when he cut her off with, "Do you want the soba or not?"
A spasm of pain coursed through her ribs, causing her to wince. "Fine," She muttered, and sat down on the bed.
"See you Friday then. My god, you're stubborn." He left and shut the door.
The memory, fresh in her mind, was oddly warming to think about, while the metal-engraved title of the book felt cold to the touch, pulling her back to the present.
The second reason was too much repetition. She compared it to her mastery over her meta ability that made it a part of her, that she barely gave a thought whenever she levitated ice anymore. Likewise, she could recant any part of the book with no hesitance. But even though I speak the words out loud, how much thought have I given their meaning?
She flipped open the book. Destro's words filled Geten's head like a lullaby a parent might sing to their child, not that the young woman knew what that was like.
"I am not in a prison. I am in solitude, and in this solitude have I found solace..." She read out loud to herself in the ward. It was habitual to do so, but as she kept reading, her voice trailed off as she studied it, and a growing void inside her gnawed at her heart.
I dream of a society where the use of our meta abilities is uncontrolled, as the great power that granted the human race this blessing intended. It was, and is, and will always be, a gift. Yet it is also a responsibility to bear. We must show the world the truth the governments try to conceal. They pass human laws that goes against the natural law. I, and my army, tried to show them this truth, but it is with great regret and sorrow that I announce an obstacle in our path towards destiny. My incarceration.
...
Strength is survival. Strength is our meta abilities, and honing them to perfection, achieving what we called "apotheosis" in the ancient past. To become god-like.
"And yet, you died, Destro," Geten murmured. "And still we...we honour and revere you..." The void grew larger.
The journey unto death is one I will undertake after I finish writing this, but know that death is not the end for us. While I concede death is a frightening concept, I encourage you to believe that it is an inspiration for others. To die in battle is honourable. I only wish I had done so, but what has happened is set in stone. My death is a protest to the laws that chain us, but it is also your empowerment, to do what I could not.
"Death," Geten whispered, the word tasting like poison on her tongue. She remembered both times she was one thread away from it: the barrel of Trumpet's gun pointed at her, and the fists of Takame. In the first, she was not in combat. It would have been an assassination, would it not? And in the second...
Her chest hurt at the thought. She felt no honour, only emptiness and fear, knowing what the Liberation Army had done to her attacker's family, and knowing her death was imminent.
Is it possible that Destro had feared death as well?
The reminder about Takame's wife brought her to flip the pages to the section on the powerless, or, as Destro put it...
It is not some genetic disorder as the men in white coats would tell you. They are simply the unfortunate ones to not have received this gift. Pity them, for they, the outcasts, deserve your pity.
"Mihara..." She looked just like her. If she was wandering around Deika City, Geten would have thought she was some ordinary soldier. An ordinary person, even. How was she an outcast? Why did the MLA start hunting down the quirkless? Out of pity? They deserved it?
She slammed the book shut as the image of her dead body appeared in her mind. She drew deep breaths to calm herself – had she been hyperventilating this entire time? Her fists were trembling, blood pounding in her head in anger of it all.
The agony was a python writhing on her chest while old memories resurfaced from the aching in her brain. She remembered what Re-destro taught her, and how he did it.
A growl rose in her throat.
Kicked. Starved. Left alone to fend for herself, in the name of "liberation". Everything that she did. Everything that was done to me, was in the name of liberation, but it shackled me more and more.
"Gah!" She flung the book across the room and buried her head in her hands.
She sat there upright on the hospital bed for some time, the silence screaming all the answers she did not want to hear, but had to.
"You don't find anything wrong with that?" Dabi had said on the plane. She remembered his countenance, a mixture of irritation and pity, whenever she spoke about the MLA. She had chalked it up to the arrogance of the victorious, or just a dislike of her, which was mutual then, so it never bothered her to think further. The pieces started to click together.
"You dropped this." A dry voice made her look up, and a paleness spread across her face like permafrost.
Tomura Shigaraki stood at her doorway, dressed in a crimson jacket whose sleeves ran down his arms and a black undershirt, whilst wearing jeans. He looked like any other ordinary person, if not for the severed hand on his face. In his hand was the book.
Instantly, thoughts of a legless Re-destro, or the piles of dust that once were Shigaraki's opponents flooded her mind. She gripped the bedsheets tightly.
"Why are you here? And...I don't need that." Geten averted her eyes.
Shigaraki tossed it to the side and shut the door behind her. "I'm not here to kill you or anything, don't shit yourself. I came here to see how you were doing. I gotta say, you look like you got broken up with."
His words didn't reassure her in the least, especially not the way he said 'kill you', but his posture didn't indicate any animosity, so Geten took his word for it. Clearing her throat and steadying herself as best as she could, she responded, "I'm fine."
"What's with the book throw? Test tomorrow?"
"No," She replied with an edge to her voice.
"You pissed?"
She exhaled. "Yes," She said, mustering all the civility and politeness she had left.
"How nice," He said, the concern in his tone matching that of his expression. "Anyway, you're free to do what you want now. I got nothing for Violet Regiment. You're excused from the council meetings till you're discharged, whenever the hell that is."
She blinked. "That's all?"
Shigaraki cocked his head. "What, you were expecting a celebration of your win?"
"No...never mind. Th – thank you, Commander." She bowed her head.
She heard the door slam and looked back up. She let loose a shuddering breath of relief from the sole fact that she was alive and not missing a limb, or an entire torso. He had looked more disinterested, as if she was an ant on his finger, but she would gladly accept that over a smiling Shigaraki.
Did Dabi actually talk to him? She recalled the promise he had made on the motorbike ride.
Maybe the consequences were waiting for her once her hospitalization was over, which made goosebumps appear on her skin. She held the sheets closer to her. Still, Shigaraki didn't seem like the type to grant her catharsis before unleashing whatever hell he wanted upon her. If he was going to punish her, he would have done so just now.
Geten sighed and sunk back underneath the covers. Or maybe I'm just lying to myself...
It was only mid-afternoon, judging from the sky outside, yet fatigue, both physical and mental, weighed her limbs down as if she had been training the whole day. The bed suddenly felt like the softest, most comforting thing in the world. Unable to fight against her body, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, her thoughts too cluttered to sift through. A few names and words stood out, one of which was, Find Dabi.