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“I- I can’t!” Sakurai Jun’s gun trembled as he pointed it at the boy across from him.
“Sure you can,” Midoriya murmured, quietly. He took slow steps forward as he did until the barrel of the gun was digging into his sternum. His eyes looked into Sakurai’s with pity, but his smile held the confidence of a man who saw the reaper and knew that it was not there for him. “It would be so easy.”
Sakurai’s grip slipped and the pressure of the gun lessened as it slid in his hands, following the wobbly motion of his sobs.
Midoriya took another step, closing the gap some more. “Just pull the trigger, Bullseye. All you have to do is pull the trigger.”
“N-no- I don’t w-want to…”
“No one will judge you. You’re a hero. Tell them it was self-defense, they’ll believe you.” He pushed in nearer and Sakurai let him as he instinctively pulled his arms closer in. The gun remained between them.
“I can’t l-lie to them–”
Midoriya shook his head softly. “It wouldn’t be. You feel it too, don’t you?” He reached up and he was close enough to cup a gloved hand under Sakurai’s jaw. He smiled again, but it was just a sad little twitch of his lips. “Only one of us is getting off this roof,” he whispered, so near that his words tickled Sakurai’s ear.
Sakurai whimpered.
“Just pull the trigger, Jun,” Midoriya said. He ran his thumb over Sakurai’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “It would be so easy. Just pull the trigger.”
He did.
o.0.o.0.o.0.o
At 8:45 Monday morning the body of the hero Bullseye was found on the top of the roof by a maintenance man for the building. He immediately contacted the authorities who closed off the area in order to investigate the circumstances of his death.
The corpse had a bullet wound that penetrated the right side of his skull and exited out the left; a pool of blood beneath him, and a gun in his hand.
The tests only confirmed their worst fears, the bullet matched those of Sakurai’s prized gun, the very same one he had been found with. The only fingerprints found on it were his, verifying that no one else had touched it. It was suicide.
He hadn’t even needed to use his quirk—at the distance he had fired, finding its mark was inevitable, just as inevitable as the death that quickly overtook him as the bullet ripped through his brain, shattering his skull and demolishing any chance of survival.
Detectives who had investigated nearby cameras were not surprised to see that Sakurai’s last moments had been spent with an unidentifiable boy.
After all, Sakurai’s death was not the first, nor the last, in a string of hero murders, all following the same pattern of no evidence, no witnesses, and the same young boy on a rooftop.
o.0.o.0.o.0.o
The heroes were ordered to not engage. It was assumed that this new hero killer had some sort of manipulation quirk, something that allowed him to take control of the heroes and force them to take their own lives. Meanwhile, the detectives continued to search for any possible information, scouring the registries for any sign of a quirk that could belong to the killer to no avail. Even with the restrictions the killings continued with the same seemingly random frequency, almost like he was trying to throw them off his trail.
Aizawa was the single exception to the newly enforced order. With his particular quirk it was believed he was the only one who would be able to stand against the killer.
The pressure was unimaginable.
They began to call him The Suicide Bater, a terrifyingly accurate name that made Aizawa’s blood run cold. He began to increase his patrols, attempting to cover as much ground as possible before The Suicide Bater could add to his list of victims.
Everyone was searching, trying to find any lead in the case. The heroes, the police, even the citizens were warned to be on the lookout.
It wasn’t enough.
o.0.o.0.o.0.o
Mt. Lady was found with a knife that was not hers buried to its hilt in her chest. Tests were done but any fingerprints that it might have had were obscured by Mt. Lady’s own.
Aizawa had been patrolling twelve blocks west of her.
Cyanide, it seemed, was not immune to his own poison when taken orally, and with no other leads, he too was dubbed a victim of The Suicide Bater.
He was only nine blocks away.
Mr. Brave joined the list with his own sword, skewering him through and leaving him to bleed out on the rooftop.
How hadn’t he heard the screams? He was near enough, only three blocks north moving east-
o.0.o.0.o.0.o
It was a hard lesson the day Aizawa learned that he could not blame his failure to save a life on himself. He was seventeen when he realized that the blame must be placed where it deserves and that no one is at fault in a tragedy but the villain that causes it. Aizawa knew this. He knew how illogical it was to blame the deaths of others on himself simply because he hadn’t managed to catch the villain yet, but on some deeper level, he did. So he pushed himself harder. Frequented the rooftops during his entire patrol and even sometimes when he was not officially on duty. Looking, searching, for the culprit.
Perhaps it was his desperation that was his downfall; because when he finally found him (or he found Aizawa, Midoriya was not one to simply be caught), Aizawa didn’t even think twice before launching himself into combat.
Midoriya was prepared. He ducked under Aizawa’s capture weapon as it whipped towards him, grabbing the end as it flew past and yanking it, throwing Aizawa slightly off balance.
It wasn’t the first time a villain had tried to take advantage of the obvious weakness and Aizawa was prepared to use the attack to draw the villain in closer. He expected to see surprise on Midoriya’s face as the weapon curled around his arm and pulled him near. He expected despair, fear, or even anger.
He did not expect the smile.
It was a strange expression, one of disappointment and pity, and suddenly Aizawa was overwhelmed with the strange thought that he had just sealed his fate. Of course, it made no sense, Midoriya, while not entirely incapacitated, was in no position to fight and did not even seem to be struggling against his bonds.
“Hello, Eraserhead,” he spoke softly, as if afraid he would wake someone if he was too loud, like a murderer would ever care about such a thing.
Aizawa glared, eyes burning red, but did not answer. He refused to let his guard down for even a second, even the smallest slip could mean the difference between life and death in a situation like this one. Whatever it took, he would not give Midoriya the chance to use his quirk.
He’s just a child.
The thought came to him suddenly as he looked into Midoriya’s wide eyes, the soft freckles that dotted his cheeks reflected as dark emerald specks in his eyes. He knew inherently that Midoriya was young, it had been in all the reports, but there was something different about knowing it and experiencing it.
There were only a few feet between the two but neither party made any move to close the gap. In the back of Aizawa’s mind something was buzzing, something he had forgotten. He should call backup, shouldn’t he? But the situation didn’t feel dangerous, even if he instinctively knew it should.
Just a child, he thought.
“You have such a beautiful quirk,” Midoriya whispered, sounding almost in awe as the two locked eyes.
Aizawa couldn’t think straight. All he could do was look at the boy in front of him, not daring to blink. He didn’t know if he could if he tried.
“It won’t be much good against me though, I’m afraid.”
He– his mind felt so muddled. For a second he panicked, afraid he was under the influence of some sort of quirk, but that was impossible, his own quirk had been activated for the entire time.
A killer, he forced himself to remember.
“Don’t try anything,” said Aizawa belatedly, “I’ve erased your quirk.”
“Oh?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow. “That’s rather impossible–” He smiled widely, borderline malicious although his words remained soft and kind. “–seeing as how I don’t have one.”
The capture weapon unwound from its position on Midoriya’s arm and fell limply to the ground, pooling at his feet. At the same time, Aizawa’s hair dropped. He hadn’t even meant to deactivate his quirk and it terrified him that on some level he was taking this killer's words to be true. But how could he not? Midoriya sounded so, so, honest. How could he not believe him?
The boy smiled wider at his distress. “That’s it. I’m just a quirkless child. Not a threat at all.”
And Aizawa believed him. He believed him. No, that must be his quirk, the ability to make anything he said sound true, because how else could he sound just that convincing? But Aizawa had his quirk active when Midoriya had begun to speak so that simply wasn’t possible–
Who was this boy?
Midoriya took a step closer, eyes sparkling, and Aizawa didn’t even register it as a danger until he felt a needle stab into his thigh, maintaining eye contact with Midoriya the whole time.
Midoriya took a step back, an empty syringe in his hand. Aizawa should have seen it earlier but somehow– somehow he hadn’t. He watched in terror as Midoriya shook his head softly, eyes still trained on Aizawa.
“Don’t feel bad,” he said, sounding almost tender. “They always underestimate me. You’re not special.”
Aizawa gasped and stumbled, feeling the sedative run through his veins, his weapon flailing wildly as he struggled to control it even as he lost movements of his limbs.
Midoriya dodged it aptly and watched in what seemed to be disappointment as it flew off the ledge of the roof, pooling on the cement below.
"Shame," he said. "I wanted to use that." He turned his attention back to Aizawa who had fallen paralyzed to the ground. "Not that the method really matters, but it would have been rather poetic, wouldn’t it? Hung from the weapon that had done nothing but keep you safe. I like those, when heroes die from their very own defense."
"How–" Aizawa muttered, his words slurring as he spoke. His tongue was like a rock in his mouth, growing heavy as the paralysis set in. He felt panic begin to pump through him in time with the drug. He was terrified, numb with fear to the point where he questioned if he would be able to move even without the sedative, looking up at the child– the killer.
"I don't like using sedatives," Midoriya said, rather than answer. "But you are a special case.” He looked down and if Aizawa didn’t know any better he would have said it was in shame. “I am sorry about that though."
Aizawa was going to die. The thought hit him with the force of any physical attack, but somehow it felt even more certain. He was going to die.
"Are you going to kill me?" he asked, although he knew the answer. His words were stilted as he struggled to speak.
Midoriya laughed. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” Midoriya asked innocently.
“Killing heroes like this, it’s–” Aizawa struggled to even find a word that properly conveyed the atrocity of it.
“Oh, I don’t kill them, not really. They do that themselves.”
"Then what exactly," Aizawa started, his breath labored. "Do you do?"
Midoriya smiled. "I talk to them. That's all I do; I just talk to them."
Aizawa was stunned. This wasn’t what they had expected. Where was the terrifying persuasion quirk? Where was the Suicide Bater they had talked about? Aizawa had known some of his victims, he knew it would take more than a simple conversation to beat them, yet after only a few minutes with this boy he could almost, almost understand. "How?” he asked, softly.
“It’s simple really, I’ve always been good at making people feel a certain way, all it took was taking it to another level. I’ve gotten better as I’ve gone on. It’s just knowing the right words to say and the right way to say them, although it changes from person to person. I have to choose my targets carefully.”
Aizawa felt chills run up his spine. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you…”
Midoriya chuckled. “Just a morbid curiosity I suppose. I know what it takes to push a person to the brink and I wanted to see just what was necessary to push them over.”
Aizawa shuddered.
“It was even easier than I had ever imagined.” He smiled. “And thrilling too.”
“You’re sick.”
Midoriya shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m good at it.”
Aizawa hated this. There was something so twisted about the way this boy was talking and yet Aizawa hoped desperately he wouldn’t stop. The longer he could drag out this conversation the better his chance that someone would find him before it was too late. So although the words felt like poison across his lips Aizawa continued to talk, ask questions, anything to keep him talking.
“Why heroes?”
“Would you believe me if I said I just like the irony? The boy who wanted to be a hero but wasn’t allowed to, killing the heroes instead and becoming the very same villain he wanted to defeat?”
Aizawa felt sick.
“But the truth is you make for easier targets. Who better to talk to the point of suicide than those who measure their worth in the number of lives they didn’t save? So they themselves end up another tally line on their list of failures. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His eyes began to water. Because Aizawa knew, and perhaps it was a mistake to fall into despair so soon, but he knew that Midoriya would succeed.
He knew he would die.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked in desperation.
“Oh,” Midoriya smiled. “You don’t want me to answer that.”
Aizawa waited.
“It was getting boring, just going about it like usual. Too easy and you heroes weren’t any closer to catching me. It had lost the thrill, I needed a challenge.”
“So you told me your entire plan and your reasoning behind it just to make things more interesting?” Aizawa said, his blood running cold.
“Well, it seems to have worked in any case.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m sure you’ve met plenty of those in your line of work.”
“Not like this,” Aizawa whispered. “Not- not like this.”
Midoriya laughed. “So I’m special then, how nice.” His eyes narrowed. “You have the details now, so how about it? Shall we get started?”
Maybe this had been his mistake, his plan. He had hoped that if he could get Midoriya to talk and hopefully waste enough time that someone would find him or the paralysis would wear off, but he was beginning to realize that was the biggest mistake he possibly could have made because with each sentence Aizawa could feel himself sinking even deeper and if Midoriya was to be believed it would only be a matter of time before Aizawa fell too deep.
He didn’t know if he should laugh or cry so he did both, sobbing as a hysterical choking laugh escaped him. “I really am going to die, aren’t I?”
Midoriya just smiled.
“I think I get it now,” he murmured. “This is all just a game to you, isn’t it?”
Midoriya’s eyes widened. “Perceptive, aren’t you? No one else seemed to understand.” He leaned closer and his voice fell to a whisper. “I just don’t care,” he said slowly, tasting each word as they left his mouth. He pulled away. “If the only way I can feel anything is through the thrill of watching others die from my words alone, then why not indulge?” He laughed. “I’m sure I’ll get caught eventually, but in the meantime: why not have some fun?”
“What happened to you? To make you this way?”
Midoriya hummed thoughtfully. “Oh now let's not focus on that. The past is past, you know.” He looked down at a watch on his wrist. “How the time flies,” he said.
“You don’t have to do this,” Aizawa tried.
Midoriya looked back down at him with bright eyes. “The sedative will last an hour or so, but that’s plenty of time to ensure that you won’t run off as soon as you get a chance. You have no backup, no weapon, and you’re effectively quirkless against me.” The boy sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged on the cement, staring at Aizawa with a slightly tilted head. “We have all night, Shouta. Let’s see how long it takes for me to talk you down.”