𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴,
𝚂𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙳-𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆.
The hum of the engine filled the background with white noise. The truck's headlights lit the freeway you drove down. No particular direction, no determined destination. You had lost track of time some while ago. Perhaps the surroundings you sped past, as the city blurred together, could be calming. But given the circumstances, it was difficult to find peace.
The car was filled with something that is often confused with calm or peace. It was still. Whether due to your exhaustion or the tension, you did not know. Regardless, the teenager sitting beside you decided to disrupt the stillness.
"Why did you save me?" Bakugo wondered aloud. With a heavy sigh, you ran a hand over your face.
"Haven't we been over this?" You asked, keeping a lax grip on the steering wheel. You were less than enthusiastic to explain your reasoning, or lack thereof, to him. Because you did not respond, Bakguo began to theorize on his own.
"Are you an undercover hero?" The boy pressed, turning to look at you. You kept your stare focused on the dark road ahead of you.
"No," You responded quickly, the word hero striking a bitter chord.
"Do you have some kind of vendetta against The League of Villains?" Bakugo asked, narrowing his eyes at you. His gaze attempted to analyze you. You hated it.
"No." Your answer was flat and to the point.
"Are you--" You chose to not allow him the opportunity to finish.
"I'm a gun for hire," You stated honestly. "People pay me and I don't ask questions. The League hired me to keep you away from the heroes. Happy?" It may have been the lack of sleep that led to your short patience. "I might be a criminal... but even I know kidnapping a kid isn't right." The silence returned, but only for a moment.
"How long have you been a criminal?" Bakugo wondered, still staring at your focused expression. It was clear he still did not trust you, and that was fair. You would not trust yourself either.
"A long time," You said vaguely.
"Where are we going?" Bakugo questioned. He seemed to be firing one after the other, wasn't he? He sure was curious.
"You'll know when we get there," You told him. In truth, you would also know when you arrived. Before he could come up with his next question, you turned on the car radio. You messed with the dial until you found a station that played clearly.
𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽𝚆𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙴...
For nearly three hours, UA staff and law enforcement officers had been hashing and rehashing the summer training camp incident. The students getting attacked was one thing, but discovering a student had been kidnapped was another entirely.
"It appears we have no other alternatives," Principle Nezu spoke. "We should go forward with the original plan." The others nodded in agreement. They recognized how much of a dead-end they were met with. They had a good plan, they even knew where The League of Villains were hiding.
Each member of the meeting was worried in one way or another. But it hit the 1-A homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa, particularly hard. Guilt raked over his mind, too heavy to ignore. With every second that passed, it ate him alive.
Suddenly, Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi burst into the meeting room. Everyone saw the distraught expression written across his face. He had stepped out of the meeting to answer a phone call and was still holding the device in his hand.
"Katsuki Bakugo was seen downtown an hour ago," Detective Tsukauchi announced, almost out of breath. "Someone called in, she saw her neighbors with someone who fit his description. They also heard loud arguing." Aizawa perked up, a twinge of hope flickering in his chest. Why would The League of Villains be so careless as to go out into the open with the one they just kidnapped?
"Was he with anyone we can identify?" Principle Nezu asked, in hopes of turning up some good news. They were in need of good news at the moment.
"No, the woman who called wasn't able to name who was with him," Detective Tsukauchi explained. "But we have an address and the go-ahead to investigate the apartment complex." It was nearly instantly decided that Detective Tsukauchi and Aizawa would go to search the building.
It was not unsurprising that the building was in desperate need of repair. A villain would hide in a place like this, Detective Tsukauchi rationalized. With a quick flash of his badge, he, Aizawa, and a few uniformed officers waltzed inside. The stairs creaked under their feet as they climbed to the third floor. City noise rushed to meet their ears, like dogs barking and sirens sounding, and a strange smell greeted them.
They saw the apartment number the woman on the phone specified. The officers remained on edge, hands placed on their guns. Detective Tsukauchi knocked three times. No one came to answer.
"It's the police, open up!" One of the officers shouted with authority. Since they had no response, they let themselves in. The door was nearly knocked off its hinges as they threw it open. At first glance, the apartment appeared to be harmless.
There was bland furniture, dust setting on surfaces, and clutter strewed about. Whoever lives here doesn't take very good care of the place, Detective Tsukauchi thought. As he poked around, he began to lose hope. It looked like a perfectly ordinary home. But upon further inspection--
"I think we're in the right place," Aizawa said loudly with a small sigh.
"What makes you say that?" Detective Tsukauchi wondered. He approached the teacher, who was crouching in the living room near a beat-up coffee table. Instead of providing a verbal response, Aizawa simply showed the detective what he found tapped to the underside of the table: a gun.
"Detective, we found weapons in the bedroom!" An officer called from the hallway. It was becoming more and more clear they were dealing with someone who was no stranger to crime. Who knew what kind of trouble Bakugo was in.
...
Your feet hit the pavement and you slammed the car door shut. You slung the duffle bag over your shoulder and locked the truck. Bakugo followed you without needing to be asked to. You walked from the parking lot to the office of the cheap, and most likely unsanitary, motel.
"Two beds." You placed a small amount of cash onto the counter and the attendant tossed you a key. They were utterly uninterested, just the way you liked it.
"How many days?" They asked, not bothering to look up from their magazine. Your answer came from halfway out the door,
"Not long."
𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳...