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Chapter Text

Lost to the Zone

CHAPTER 1: ДІМ (Home) 

28 June 2156, 11:36

Mustafa, Japan 

Most would think that a return to one’s home would be a relatively peaceful and joyful affair, where the family would be present to welcome the individual.

Unfortunately, this is not always the case, especially not for the young man thrown out of the distortion in the sky, whereupon he was greeted not by the embrace of loved ones, but by the heavy impact of a fist to the face accompanied by a “Surrender villain!” courtesy of Mt. Lady. The young man’s flight path now drastically different, he slammed into the brick wall of a nearby apartment building, crumpling to the ground unconscious. Quickly he was surrounded and pinned by the other heroes that had previously barricaded the area around the distortion. The crowd cheered as Mt. Lady posed for the cameras, relishing in her victory over the supposed villain.

Hell of a welcome home…

The first waking breath of air, as he came to, indicated that he was someplace sheltered, tasting sterile, controlled, and lacking that distinct hum and heaviness he had grown so accustomed to in three years of hell. 

Izuku dared not open his eyes yet. While his sealed helmet and mask were still on his head, he was going to avoid risking any indication of him being awake. He still had no clue where he was and it would be best to gather some information. So he maintained his breathing to a rhythm similar to sleep as he began a mental scan of his body. 

The aching of his head was likely due to whatever the hell it was that knocked him into yesterday. He made a mental note to scour the ends of the earth to find out what hit him and smack it with his frying pan. 

Continuing down his body, he was glad to feel that his ribs were just bruised, as cracked or broken ribs suck and would get in the way. Internally though, he frowned, feeling metal restraints on his wrists. Cuffs. Well that explains the static feedback he was getting from the nerves in his arms. He’d have to actually look at them to determine how difficult it’d be to get out of them. 

Moving on, he noted that his Heart of the Oasis artifact had taken care of the broken femur and Chimera bite he sustained during his fight to get to the anomaly. Good. Wonderful even! That meant that if he had to escape, he’d have no trouble sneaking or running around. The familiar weight of his boots indicated that he wasn’t properly stripped of all his gear, so he was able to stay armed, even if it was just the Monolith blade hidden in his boot. It wouldn’t be the first time the knife was all he had to defend himself.

Izuku strained his ears, noting the faint sounds of electronic beeps outside the room, distant conversations, and– wait… was that the sound of birdsong outside? 

Izuku paused in disbelief. He listened again and for sure he heard birdsong once more. 

This could not be. There was no way. The only birds that survived in the Zone were the tenacious mutated crows, not these fragile little songbirds that were singing outside what was likely a window that still had its glass completely intact. 

There was no way… could it be?

Impatient now with the uncertainty, Izuku opened his eyes and his mind went blank. 

A hospital room. A clean, functional, fully equipped hospital room. 

Izuku’s mind raced but he could not latch onto a single fleeting thought as he heard a click, saw the door begin to open, and he spoke with trepidation.

“Где я, черт возьми?”

Tsukauchi Naomasa has dealt with many strange cases thus far as a detective. 

But today? Well it’s certainly up there. 

The spatial distortion that appeared in the residential area had been odd enough but easily discounted as the effects of a quirk. But whenever anyone attempted to approach the area surrounding it, they would immediately find themselves thrown away by some force. This alone was enough to warrant a hero response as it likely could have been a villain trying to cause trouble for some fun. It wasn’t until the sudden appearance of a heavily armored individual that Mt. Lady had taken it upon herself to consider it as a full blown villain attack and incapacitated them as quickly as possible to avoid any extensive contact in the highly populated area. The suspicion of this person’s involvement was only furthered by the distortion vanishing with a gust of wind upon incapacitation, the copious amount of blood found splattered on their armor, and the fact they were armed with a rifle and handgun, both of which were taken as evidence along with their backpack. 

A previous incident with a criminal who had booby trapped his own equipment had taught the law enforcing body that it was best to wait for the subject to be conscious and compliant before attempting any further equipment removal and booking. 

Checking his watch, Tsukauchi sighed, seeing that an hour has passed since they brought the suspect into the hospital given their injured state. He got up from the plastic armchair and made his way to the suspect’s room, figuring now would be as good a time as any to check to see if they were awake, turning on the audio recorder in his pocket. Nodding to the officers posted outside, he grabbed the handle and stepped in. 

“Где я, черт возьми?”

Tsukauchi jumped slightly, not sure he heard that correctly. His eyes locked onto the man cuffed to the reinforced hospital bed. What did he just say?

Tsukauchi cleared his throat. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t think I caught what you said.”

The man tilted his helmeted head, the reflective green glass of the mask unnerving the detective. 

“Де я? Хто ти? Яка ваша приналежність?”

Tsukauchi was… confused. Was that Russian? This might be a problem if the man couldn’t speak Japanese, getting a translator would be a pain, particularly a Russian speaking one.

“Do you speak Japanese? Where are you from?” The detective needed to know, because if the police had to get an embassy involved, things would just get even more complicated and suck up even more precious hours of blissful sleep.

The suspect was silent, seemingly scanning the detective from head to toe. The intense attention filled the detective with an unusual sense of unease, he felt as though his worth was being evaluated by an apex predator. The mask suddenly seemed all the more like the visage of an alien hunter. Tsukauchi gulped as he felt a shiver go down his spine and was prepared to step back out of the room when the man sat up and spoke.

“You… Japanese?” The man rasped in near perfect Japanese. “Where am I? Who… you? You… egghead?”

Tsukauchi was surprised. So the man did speak Japanese, but what did he mean by egghead? He steeled himself, regaining his composure and falling back into the familiarity of professionalism.

“Yes I’m Japanese. I am Detective Tsukauchi, you’ve been detained and brought to the Mustafu Municipal Hospital to be examined for any potential injuries.” He paused, “What do you mean by ‘Egghead’?”

The man was still, but Tsukauchi could vaguely hear muffled mumbling behind that mask. The man shifted, almost anxiously.

“What year is it? Am I in Japan?” The armored man asked, barely audible.

The detective frowned. “What year is it? It’s 2156. Yes, you are in Japan.” He wondered for a brief moment if the man may have hit that wall harder than he may have been able to handle. That brief moment of concern only grew when the man began to laugh loudly, almost deranged and manic.

The man laughed for only half a minute, but it felt like an eternity. The man looked around frantically, seeming to take in every detail of the room in those fleeting glances.

“Home?! I’m home! Мама, я дома! Блад! Mom! Oh god she’s been alone this whole time! I have to go see her!”

Tsukauchi, figuring the man was about to try something reckless, stepped forward and held his hands up in an attempt to calm the man down. 

“Woah, now hold on. You are under police custody. You aren’t going anywhere and I need to know what’s going on. So let's start over. Who are you?”

The man looked ready to put up a fight but seemingly resigned himself to the interrogation, allowing himself to fall back onto the pillow of the bed. 

Sighing, he spoke. “I’m Peac- er, Izuku. Midoriya Izuku.”

True

The detective's quirk pinged. That name sounded familiar to the detective but the fact it was clearly Japanese was what truly caught his attention. 

“You’re Japanese?”

“Yes, I’m from Mustafa. It’s… it’s been so long since I’ve been here, since I last spoke my native tongue.” Midoriya explained, rolling his head to look at the detective directly. 

True

Once more the detective’s quirk pinged. So Midoriya hadn’t been in Japan for a while then, but if the distortion spat him out here, assuming it was the man’s quirk, why was he so confused he was here? What did that have to do with how he was armed or speaking Russian? Tsukauchi knew he needed to start getting to the bottom of this man’s intentions, he will smooth out the finer details later. 

Clearing his throat, Tsukauchi took the dive. “Where were you before? Did it have anything to do with why you look like you came off a battlefield?”

Midoriya was silent.

Half a minute passed before the detective chose to extend an olive branch of sorts. 

“Please, I only wish to know what your intentions are here. Did you cause that distortion to appear in the residential district?”

“No.” Midoriya answered curtly. 

True

Tsukauchi’s quirk affirmed. 

“No, I would never unleash such an abnormality of reality on the innocent.” 

True

“Honestly, everyone is lucky that the Space Bubble had a bunch of Springboards around it, anything like a Whirligig or Vortex and you’d have to clean up giblets across the entire prefecture. Word of advice for the future: if you ever see some kind of distortion, see leaves moving in a vortex, or hear wind gusting when there is no wind, stay away.” Midoriya chuckled harshly, shifting his head to look at the ceiling.

“Блад… I just can’t catch a break huh? Let me tell you this right now, because while I can definitely get out of these cuffs myself, I want you to trust me: I am no threat to the general public. I have no ill intentions, and while I only wish to go home and see my mother for the first time in three years, I still have a duty to fulfill as a Clear Sky officer. Those distortions? No quirk made them. In some sense they are man made, in another, paranormal. For three years, I fought in a hellscape to keep it from growing, but now its reaching beyond time and space and I can’t allow that to happen. I only wish it wasn’t here.”

True 

Tsukauchi’s quirk never failed but this man wasn’t making any sense. Space Bubble? Vortex? Clear Sky? Supernatural? Hellscape? What did any of this even mean?

“Hold on.” Tsukauchi held a hand up as he used his other to rub the bridge of his nose. Damn this whole case was already giving him a bitch of a headache. “Slow down, I believe you, but what are you saying? I need you to make some sense.”

“Fine,” Midoriya sighed, “but get me out of these cuffs first. My arms feel like I got shocked by an Electro and I’d like to stretch them out a bit if I am going to be giving you the short of it.”

Detective Tsukauchi thought it out for a second before walking over to the bed, pulling a key out of his trench coat.

“Alright, just remember that there are officers outside the room and heroes nearby should anything happen.” Tsukauchi warned as he unlocked the handcuffs.

“Heh,” Midoriya chuckled dryly, “I’ve faced worse odds.”

Midoriya sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed while rubbing his wrists to get some feeling back into them.

“Хорошо, I hate cuffs.” Midoriya got off the bed and began shaking out his arms, standing to his full height of 6’1”. “Right, so where to start?”

“Where were you before this?” Tsukauchi prodded.

“Ah right… There…” Midoriya was quiet for a moment. “The easy answer I can give you is the Chornobyl Exclusion Zone, but in all honesty it was far more than that.”

Midoriya reached up to his helmet and undid the straps, quickly taking it off and throwing it onto the bed along with his Peltor earpro headset. He then undid all but one set of the straps on his sealed mask and let it hang from his neck. Running a hand through his long green hair, Midoriya turned and let the detective see his face. Large tired green eyes, a strong jaw marked with stubble, and a jagged angry scar that curved from the bridge of his nose, down his left cheek, and disappeared behind his neck gaiter. Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa knew this face, had seen this face, yet could not place where. 

“To be exact I was in Chornobyl, pulled there by a literal monument of human madness and its groupies, to the year 2018, and it was hell. I was just 16, just making my way home from school, running from some holier than thou shithead and his cronies when I ran right into a Space Bubble and found myself suddenly surrounded by some fanatics in urban camouflage swaying like junkies and praying to a heap of trash. At 16 I was suddenly forced to fight, to kill, for my own survival.” Scratching his chin, he looked out the window at the busy streets below. “A quirkless kid thrust into the most dangerous place in the world, while all I wanted to do was eat some katsudon with my mother and watch some hero news. How fucked do you think I am if I wake up in a cold sweat every night because I can still see those guys’ faces, still feel the pain, still hear its voice?”

Wait, quirkless? Tsukauchi faltered as his brain latched onto that. 

Meanwhile, Midoriya frantically checked his pockets before swearing and only pulling out a beaten up and oxidized bronze trench lighter. Turning to Tsukauchi, he gave a sheepish look.

“You got a dart I can bum off you? I think I lost my pack of Marlboros somewhere along the way. Cigs aren’t cheap in The Zone, let me tell you.”

Quirkless 16 year old teen, Midoriya Izuku, missing two years ago, disappeared on the way home and was last seen running into an alleyway by classmate Bakugo Katsuki. Tsukauchi’s head snapped to look directly at Midoriya as it finally clicked. The boy now turned man, dressed in a striking blue and white tiger stripe camo parka, a green flecktarn neck gaiter, green armored rig, and green cargo pants adorned by a pair of empty pistol holsters, pouches, and kneepads. Scarred, aged, and battle hardened, the missing quirkless child was here. 

“You’re Midoriya Izuku…” Tsukauchi whispered in shock. 

Seconds of awkward silence passed. 

“So should I just bum one off an officer or…”

Two long years had passed since Midoriya Inko last saw her beloved son, Izuku. While the authorities were quick to rule him as another victim of this cruel world, Inko refused to give up hope that her child was still out there somewhere. 

Each day without Izuku only fueled Inko's grief and determination. She plastered the neighborhood with missing posters, enlisting the help of other Quirkless individuals and good Samaritans in her search. Over time, her efforts blossomed into a full organization dedicated to protecting the vulnerable Quirkless community. 

Though they succeeded in finding many who went missing, beaten down by society's harsh shadow, Izuku remained elusive. With each passing day, Inko's hope grew dimmer. She feared the day her search might lead somewhere far darker - when her sweet, defenseless son could be the one case too terrible to uncover. 

Inko threw herself into helping others, if only to distract from her own anguish. Two years of tireless searching, and still no sign of Izuku. She began to accept he may be truly lost to her.

And then, one fateful day, Inko received a call from the police.

28 June 2156, 17:50

Mustafu Municipal Hospital Rooftop, Japan

Birds singing, airplanes crossing the sky overhead, the hustle and bustle of traffic and pedestrians below, even the occasional distant cries for a villain to surrender- these were all sounds that Izuku had not heard in three years. 

Three agonizingly long years in a nuclear wasteland that Izuku had learned fear and respect, love and hate. For as much death and decay the Zone contained, there was also life and growth. 

The one constant was that the Zone giveth, just as much as it taketh. To lose one’s life in the Zone, meant you were not simply dead. You were lost to the Zone. You become one with the Zone, no matter the circumstances. From the moment you set foot in the Zone, your mind and soul were tied to it. You can not escape the Zone, not even in your dreams. 

Looking out at the city from the hospital rooftop, Izuku wonders how long it may be before the Zone calls back to him, if it can even follow him now that he is back home. Given that it had plucked him from this reality, and in turn spat him back into it, he only thinks it would be a matter of when, not if. Pulling his long hair back into a ponytail, Izuku chooses to just enjoy whatever reprieve he can get. It’s only a matter of time before he will begin to feel the buzz of the fractured Noosphere once more. 

Behind him, the door to the rooftop swung open as the detective walked through the doorway, clearly straining to hold the large green backpack in his hands. The detective only managed a few more steps before dropping the bag on the ground. 

“Buddha! Why the hell is your backpack so damn heavy?” Naomasa gasped from his hunched position, hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. “I had to carry it from the squad car, to the east wing elevator, take the east wing elevator to the third floor, walk across the overpass to the west wing, and then up four more flights of stairs!”

Turning, Izuku raised an eyebrow at the detective. “You know, you could have just extended the handle and fold up the wheel covers just to roll it around.” He explained, lazily pointing at the large bag. 

“Wha- really?!”

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you.”

“Kid, you are going to be the reason I drink tonight” 

Izuku chortled mirthlessly. “With the shit I’ll be giving you? Might want to start attending AA meetings ahead of time, because Zone knows it only took me two months of living it to become an alcoholic.”

Tsukauchi’s expression grew somber. “Was it really that bad?”

Izuku strolled over to the backpack. “Hold that thought, would you? I’m all for serious conversations on a rooftop, but up until about eight hours ago, I literally fought for hours, got pulled through a Space Bubble, had the Japanese knocked right back into me, suffered a minor breakdown, and I’ve not had any proper sleep in a week. Let me take a seat.” Opening a zipper on the underside of the backpack, he pulled out two mini folding stools. With a flick of his wrist, one opened up and was promptly handed to the detective. Opening the second stool, he plopped down with a sigh and proceeded to rummage through his bag some more. Tsukauchi only eyed Izuku with curiosity as he cautiously took a seat on the admittedly tiny stool. 

“Sorry ‘bout the little stools, they’re my emergency set. I have two better regular sized folding stools but the case for them is a pain to deal with. Plus I stuffed them at the bottom of my bag when I was in a hurry yesterday, and I’m not going to pull out half my hideout just for some better comfort. Ah! Here we go! I knew I had an extra pack in here somewhere.”

Izuku presented his prize to the detective, a sealed pack of Marlboro Menthols, with a grin. He began to rip the plastic off with haste. “You know, I normally don’t smoke these, they’re rarely sold by the traders, super expensive, and for some reason the only menthol cigarettes that do show up are Marlboros. Whatever, I just want to savor being back.” 

Izuku held the cigarette in his lips and lit it with his trench lighter. “I expect you’ve given my mom a call, right? Betting she’s rushing to get here faster than what may be legally allowed.” Izuku said with a puff of the cigarette. 

Tsukauchi waved the smoke away and scooted his stool back a bit to be out of range of any more incoming smoke. “Um, yes, we called her but I believe she had fainted at one point for a short time before coming to and giving a rushed thanks.”

Izuku snorted, smoke blowing from his nostrils. “Yeah, that’s about what I expect of mom.” Looking at his watch he hummed. “Alright, well I give us about 10 minutes before she arrives. Ask away Poirot.”

Tsukauchi took a second to deliberate his first question. “Why did you ask what year it was? I know you mentioned somehow ending up in 2018, but why was the year so important to you?”

Izuku leaned back, enjoying the buzz of nicotine, and answered. “Well, the Zone does funny shit to time. I’ve heard of stalkers walking between a pair of trees and returning to base to find out they’ve been gone for months when an hour’s only passed for them. I’ve also heard of stalkers getting caught in a Space Loop anomaly, finding their way out, and realizing that mere minutes have passed in reality despite spending days lost in a mirror dimension.” 

Izuku took a long drag of his cigarette. “I was especially curious because for me, I was in the Zone for 3 years, 2 months, and 10 days. But here? It’s been 2 years. I’m 19 now, detective, and it pisses me off to say that the best birthday I’ve had during those three years was when a fellow stalker gave me some explosive rounds for my rifle that they found on some dead Duty soldier. We made a crispy as hell cookie with soggy stale bread and a mostly eaten chocolate protein bar, which we mushed up and stuck into Burner anomaly. It was fucking awful, but it was also the best thing I had in my 3 years there.”

Tsukauchi eyed the man in front of him, the long hair and stubble showed Izuku’s age, but the scar and weariness conveyed with each drag of the cigarette convinced the detective that Izuku had experienced more than most should in three years. Just what was this place like for a boy to look like a hardened war veteran?

“What exactly is the Zone? The way you’ve talked about it makes it seem like it was something more than the Chornobyl Exclusion Zone we know.” The detective asked, leaning forward in his stool. “What did you experience that requires you to wear combat gear and be heavily armed with century old equipment?”

Izuku grinned. “Ha, now if that isn’t a loaded question.” He looked at his cigarette with a distant gaze. “The Zone… The Zone is a living thing I guess you can say, well at least that’s what those of us in Clear Sky, as well as some Freedom members, believe. It’s not some creature or person in control, it’s almost like a consciousness with influence over a 30km radius from the Chornobyl Power Plant. Some of the eggheads think it’s in its infant or toddler stage, acting on similar whims, tantrums being deadly storms capable of zombifying stalkers caught outside and changing landscapes, and good days bringing a sense of calm over everything. The Zone is a mysterious entity. Not much is known about how it works but it is known that it came into existence in 2006 when some scientists working in Chornobyl had an experiment go tits up and suddenly animals are getting horribly mutated, a whole town gets dusted, people are getting zombified, test subjects from a Soviet era super soldier program escape, and tears in reality capable of killing a person hundreds of different ways start cropping up everywhere. All this danger would make you think people would want to stay away, right? Nope, because people start pouring in for different reasons. Criminals on the run begin to hide out in the Zone, outcasts band together there, explorers and adventurers see it as the journey of a lifetime, trophy collectors go venture in to collect pelts and mutant parts, people go on pilgrimages through the Zone thinking they can find themselves or be enlightened, some begin to worship the Zone as some kind of deity…” Izuku pauses and takes a really long pull from his cigarette, his hand shaking a little, and blows the smoke out dreadfully slow before continuing, “And soon… soon a rumor starts to go around about some kind of thing in the center of the Zone within the Sarcophagus that can grant any wish you have. At a price. What that price may be, none know. What is known is that the Wish Granter can call people to it. This has led to some people looking for it or worshiping it thinking it’s some benevolent divinity. I don’t think it is though. I’ve seen it, I’ve heard it’s call. And I can tell you, there is nothing divine or benevolent about that thing .”

Izuku stood up and walked over to the rooftop railing, simply looking out over lively streets. “There is nothing good, nothing heroic, nothing human about that fucking thing .” He turned around to face Tsukauchi, the fingers holding his cigarette tapping on a canteen fastened to his belt before returning to his lips for another drag. “Sorry, can we talk about something else?” Izuku asked with a shuddering breath. 

Tsukauchi nodded. “You keep saying stalkers, what does that term mean?”

“Stalker is the Ukrainian government's official term for any person illegally residing in the Zone of Alienation.” Izuku tapped the cigarette, ash falling to the floor. “There is no clear reason for exactly why the government chose the term stalker, but western media love to say it’s an acronym for Scavengers, Trespassers, Adventurers, Loners, Killers, Explorers, and Robbers. It’s a load of bullshit. In either Russian or Ukrainian that acronym makes zero sense and I think it’s just a western means of drumming up support in some asinine way to get access to the Zone.”

Tsukauchi made a note in the notepad he pulled from his trench coat. “Earlier you asked if I was an egghead. What did you mean by that?”

“Oh yeah, that. Basically I just was wondering if you were a researcher or doctor sent into the Zone by the government. My head was still a bit fuzzy so I didn’t get a good enough look at you when I was asking.”

“There were some other phrases you kept mentioning: Clear Sky, Duty, Freedom. What are they exactly?”

“In short, they’re factions, but the history behind them is pretty detailed and, well…” Izuku scratched his chin. 

“Well, there's just so much to discuss about what I’ve done and seen, I highly doubt we’ll touch on all of it.” Izuku reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a rugged looking device along with a memory stick. He fiddled with the device for a bit before ejecting the memory stick. “Here you go detective,” he said, handing over the memory stick, “I’ve copied over the Stalker encyclopedia and my diary entries for you to read through. Normally I'm not so trusting but my gut has never failed me and it’s telling me to trust you.” Tsukauchi nodded, taking the memory stick and placing it into the inside pocket of his trench coat. 

Down below, the squealing of tires tore through the air as a car abruptly came to a stop outside the west wing hospital entrance. Looking over the edge of the roof’s railings, Izuku smiled softly as a woman with green hair stepped out of the vehicle looking harried and determined. 

Izuku put out his cigarette. “Detective, sorry about this but can you put the stools back in their pocket and bring my bag down? Cool, see ya in a bit!” With that, Izuku flung himself over the railings, leaving behind a very flustered Tsukauchi. 

Izuku took note of the windows as he dropped, counting down under his breath. When he reached the third story window, he grabbed onto the window pane for a second, allowing himself to slow but not stop so suddenly. He kicked off the wall before his elbows extended above his shoulders, aiming for the ground as he dived. Just as he hit the ground, he rolled to make the landing safe and sprung to his feet right in front of the woman scurrying to the hospital entrance, startling her. 

“Hi mom.” Izuku said with a wave. 

“I-Izuku?” Inko stuttered. She held her arms out shakingly as she took in her son’s appearance. 

“Yeah, mom. It’s me. I’m home.”

“Izuku!” Inko engulfed him in a hug. “Oh my baby boy! My baby boy!” Inko sobbed, dozens of mixed emotions overwhelming her as she held onto Izuku with a vice grip. 

Izuku wrapped his arms around her and simply enjoyed the hug, whispering, “I’m finally home.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Constant Fear

6 May 2018, 15:54

Limansk Hospital, Ukraine

Midoriya Izuku was familiar with pain. Burns and blasts, cuts and contusions; all a normal “consequence” of being born quirkless. Useless. A deku. 

But when he had run into that alley, he hadn’t expected the explosion of light and wind. He hadn’t expected to be thrown into an antenna covered in scrap, surrounded by heavily armed men in urban camouflage and gas masks or screen helmets, kneeling on the ground, bowing or twisting their heads and upper bodies reverently. Nor did he expect to suddenly have a curved skeleton blade pierce his right forearm, pinning him to the structure. 

The pain was more than anything he’d ever experienced. 

“Oh Monolith, by your grace and blessings, we have succeeded in summoning forth the Conduit. In your holy light, your children celebrate the birth of a new era!”

Izuku cried in pain as the man speaking pushed the knife deeper, seemingly cutting into the flesh and metal as though they were butter. Looking up at his attacker’s face, Izuku whimpered, terror squeezing his heart. Through the cracked glass of the man’s gas mask, he only saw blank, sunken, clouded eyes staring back at him, devoid of humanity. Faintly, he registered a buzzing sensation behind his eyes. 

“Brothers! We sought salvation, we sought guidance from the Monolith. We searched as dedicated children to restore the glory of the Monolith and we’ve been rewarded! We children are the acting body of our great Monolith. Through the Monolith, we find hope. Through the Monolith, we find life. Through the Monolith, we find purpose.” The preacher grabbed Izuku by his hair and abruptly ripped him away from the structure. The boy wailed in agony as the knife tore apart more sinew in the action, the wound widening and bleeding profusely as the knife and boy were wrenched from the hunk of metal. He choked on his sobs, weakly batting at the preacher's arm as he was lifted into the air by his hair. 

Turning, the preacher presented the weakened boy to the dozens of kneeling and praying men, their heads fervently bobbing and spastically twisting. “My brothers, through the Monolith, we have been given our destiny!”

“ЗА МОНОЛИТ!” 

Looking through the blurriness of tears, Izuku realized that these men, these fanatics, all shared the same eyes as the preacher. They all spoke the same halting way, moved the same unnatural way, and called for his blood in the same soulless way. He looked upon them and saw neither man nor villain, but in their place were monsters. In his weakened state, rationality was moot as baser instincts took over. 

Through the haze of pain and blood loss, Izuku spotted a handgun tucked into a chest holster on the preacher’s armored vest. And in that moment, millennia of evolutionary development took hold as millions of neurons sparked and forced the adrenal medulla to start a hormonal cascade. His body flooded with all these hormones in mere nanoseconds, it was given the only action available to ensure survival. The one thing Izuku had never done before when threatened with danger. 

Izuku fought. 

With a mighty heave, he swung his legs back and, putting his abdominals to work, he put all his weight and strength into a dropkick directly to the preacher’s head. The man stumbled to the ground, letting the boy drop with a splash onto the surface of the flooded courtyard. With his body now in overdrive, not a second was wasted as Izuku scrambled over to the man and ripped the gun holster off the preacher’s rig, the snaps of the fasteners on the MOLLE strap coming undone echoed through the silence of the ruined hospital courtyard.

It was just as he turned around for a running start that it felt as though time itself had paused. Izuku could not move, he was stuck mid stride. He began to internally panic. Then that buzz he’d felt since he arrived at this strange place erupted into a piercing sensation in his skull. He choked out a gasp of pain before his vision went white. 

Suddenly, Izuku was no longer in the courtyard of the flooded and sunken hospital. Looking around frantically, all he saw was a blinding white void. He looked at his hands and with some testing motions, realized he had full mobility and zero sensation despite the knife still stuck in his arm. Izuku avoided looking at it, its invasion with the lack of pain and all the gore made him sick to see and brought him to the edge of a mental breakdown. 

“ИДИ КО МНЕ” The void shook as a deep voice thundered. 

Izuku jumped in fright, his eyes shifting to every angle looking for the source of the voice. Turning, he froze as, approximately 50 meters away, there now stood a crystal, the center glowed brilliantly in such a way that it resembled a doorway. 

“COME TO ME, YOU WILL GET WHAT YOU DESERVE.”

Izuku took a step forward. 

“THE TIME HAS COME. I SEE YOUR WISH.”

Izuku took two more steps forward. An image of his mother flashed in his mind. 

“YOUR OBJECTIVE IS HERE. COME TO ME.”

Memories of home, of hot katsudon, of a loving hug, of imaginative play. Memories of a big, warm, smile. Three steps forward. 

“YOUR WISH WILL SOON BE GRANTED. COME TO ME.”

A large, empowering, reassuring smile. A smile that radiated safety, power, and encouragement. Izuku took half a step. The air was noticeably heavy, and a buzz weighed at the forefront of his brain. This did not feel right. 

“YOUR PATH HAS COME TO AN END. YOUR SINS WILL BE ABSOLVED. TOGETHER WE WILL BE GREAT. COME TO ME.”

“No…” It came out as less a whisper, and more a silent breath of air. 

Shaking his head, Izuku took a step back. Then another. Then three more. 

“I want to be a hero. I want to help people. I want to go home.” Izuku looked into the crystal. There was no humanity to be found. 

Raising his hand he declared, “I don’t want to be Deku anymore. I will not be handed anything on a silver platter. Much less so by a talking rock in a strange place. I want to get there on my own terms! I am here, but I will not come to you!”

With that declaration, the world shone a brilliant green. Then… nothing. 

7 May 2018, 02:13

Limansk, Zone of Alienation

Izuku woke up, drenched, and very much aware of how cold he was laying on the tile floor. 

Looking around he could see that he was in a short hallway, with three doorways that led into separate rooms, their doors missing. The windows were all boarded up and various bits of furniture and decorations lay on the floor, broken and decaying. 

“How did I get here?” Izuku whispered in wonder. He sat up, arms supporting his weight in the action, and barely held back a cry of pain as the knife stuck in his right arm reminded him of its presence. Looking down, he noticed a small puddle of blood on the dusty tiles where he laid, and to his left, the handgun, still in its holster, sat haphazardly thrown.  

Gritting his teeth, Izuku got up shakily. In the low light he could see that his school blazer was dripping blood from the cuff. Not good. That meant he was still bleeding. Using his left hand, he quickly began to take his belt off, fingers fumbling with the buckle for a moment before he managed to get it undone. 

“Thank goodness I watched the Civilian Disaster Aid tutorial the Wild Wild Pussycats made last year.” Izuku whispered, as he made a loop with the belt and passed it down through the buckle making a double loop. He carefully slipped his injured arm through the double loop, making sure to avoid jostling the knife in his forearm. Once he managed to get the belt up to his armpit, he pulled it tight until he could feel his arm go numb. Now he just had to have faith that the stitching of the belt would hold as a makeshift tourniquet. 

With the bleeding controlled for the moment, Izuku considered his options. 

‘I don’t know where I am, and as much as I’d love to figure that out and how I even got here, I need to find help first. I need to call for help.’

Izuku reached into his pocket for his phone but only found his wallet. His heart dropped. “No!” He frantically checked all his pockets, and even dug through his book bag. 

“No, no, no! I can’t find my phone!”

He ran his left hand through his hair. Izuku took a shaky breath.

“Ok, I’m injured, lost, and have no way of calling for help or figuring out who I can trust.” He looked at his right arm. “Alright, I have to elevate my arm, so I need to make a sling.” He fingered his neck tie before shaking his head. “No, it's too short. I have to find something to use for that around here. After that, I need to get out of here and find people who can help me.”

With that decided, Izuku walked over the debris in the doorway next to him. Glancing around the room, he noted that it was once a bedroom, the curtains torn and frayed, and the bed little more than a rusted metal frame with a dirty twin sized mattress and a thin cotton sheet that hung off the edge of the bed. He snagged the bedsheet and used his free hand to twist it into a rope, clenching one end in his teeth, and carefully tied the other end around the wrist of his injured arm. He then tied the end he held in his teeth around his elbow, and slipped his head through the makeshift sling. With caution, Izuku let his arm relax and was glad to note that the way he tied the sling prevented the knife from being jostled by contact with his chest. Satisfied, Izuku stepped out of the room and decided to check the room next door.

It was a bathroom, detritus littered the shower floor, the toilet stained and void of water, and the sink was tiny. The mirror above the sink was cracked but provided a very clear view of just how bad a shape Izuku was in. He looked like he’d crawled through mud and blood, various shallow scratches covered his face, his blazer torn in multiple spots. He fingered a hole in his collar when the sight of a white box with a green cross on it hanging from the wall behind him caught his attention. 

He took a step toward it and quickly unlatched it, hoping for some medical supplies to help him with his wound. But all he found was a bulky olive green bag with two pockets. Izuku grabbed it and examined it in confusion. In the largest pocket was a very old looking white rubber gas mask and a green filter. “What’s a gas mask doing in a medical cabinet?” He decided to discard the question in favor of checking the two smaller pockets. Each one held a small orange case with the imprint of a cross on it. Taking one out, Izuku was struck with a sense of familiarity, and upon opening the case, Izuku’s eyes widened in surprise. Inside the case was a small syringe and 8 vials, as well as some accompanying documentation. 

“No way!” Izuku breathed in astonishment. The last time he had seen one of these was in his history class, when the textbook covered the Cold War and Soviet means of preparing civilians. Russian made, and distributed en masse to the civilians of the Soviet Union. Soviet. That one word rang through Izuku’s mind. 

“How did I end up in Eastern Europe?!” Did he run into someone with a warp quirk in that alley? But that makes no sense! Research has shown that teleportation type quirks aren’t yet able to extend beyond certain ranges, and the furthest recorded teleportation was 80 km!

That aside, Izuku recalled being able to understand the man that stabbed him. How was he able to understand them? This discovery only opened up a whole can of worms that Izuku would love to analyze further in any other circumstance, but given he still had a knife in his forearm, had been bleeding for likely hours now, and seemed to be in some abandoned and derelict part of a former Soviet country… Well he needed to prioritize survival over curiosity. 

Izuku eyed the syringe in the case. If he remembered correctly, these things were made specifically to treat any wounds and afflictions bound to occur from a nuclear, chemical, or biological attack. He reached for the syringe, hesitating at the thought of its shelf life and considering whether or not it’s worth possibly screwing himself over, before plucking it out of the case. Turning it over, he noted that he would have to twist the vial on the end of the syringe until the seal on the contents broke. Twisting the vial, he heard a snap, used his teeth to take the cap off the needle and shoved the syringe into the soft flesh of his right arm, quietly grunting as he squeezed the contents into himself. 

“I hope I didn’t just kill myself but if it has any chance of relieving the pain, than that’s better than nothing at all.” Izuku muttered, tossing the empty syringe aside. He closed the med kit and placed it back into its pocket in the bag. 

Izuku then slipped the bag’s sling over his head and allowed it to hang at his waist, the strap lying diagonally across his chest in an almost reassuring way. 

Walking out of the room, Izuku’s foot nudged the handgun he stole from the preacher earlier. 

“I don’t want to… But I also have no clue who or what is out there…” His eyes lingered on the gun before he picked it up with trepidation, as though the weapon was in fact a pile of hot coals. Slipping the MOLLE straps of the gun holster through a belt loop on his left hip, he snapped the fasteners shut and regarded the handgun with a wary look. “If anything, I can just use it to scare anything off. As Snipe once said in an interview, ‘better to have a reliable deterrent than nothing at all.’ ”

Izuku decided to check out the last room before venturing outside. Peeking in, Izuku was greeted by the sight of a small dining table, a few overturned chairs, a counter with a stove and sink, and an ancient fridge. It was a kitchen. Pots and pans were strewn about the floor, a couple of plates sat on the table, almost as though someone had been setting the table for a meal, once upon a time ago. And there in the kitchen, opposite the fridge, Izuku could see a door, and beyond that door, were trees and houses. An exit.

He entered the kitchen and began searching the cabinets for anything else he could use. Under the sink, Izuku found three candlesticks and some long wax coated matches, which he promptly stuffed into the gas mask satchel. Checking the fridge, Izuku got a blast of rot and decay. Food long rotten filled the shelves, the smell was so bad Izuku gagged and closed his eyes to keep them from watering. But just as he was about to shut the fridge, he spotted two blue translucent bottles in the door compartments. Grabbing them, he was relieved to see that they were still sealed. Right then, Izuku was suddenly aware of just how thirsty he was, hours without anything to drink or eat becoming apparent in the empty pit in his stomach.

Izuku twisted the cap off the bottle with vigor and lifted the bottle to his lips. What a flavorful and invigorating sip it was, as mineral water flowed freely down his throat. Izuku gulped the water down with gusto, his parched tongue rehydrated and stomach momentarily filled. Dropping the empty bottle on the floor, he placed the other bottle into his book bag.

With one final cursory glance around the kitchen, Izuku was as ready as he could be to leave the condominium. Walking out the front door, Izuku was struck with awe as he took in the large metal structure that loomed over the town. 

Backup link to photo here

“Wha-“ Izuku gasped, his breath caught in his throat as the buzzing from earlier returned in full force. The air felt heavy and his vision swam. 

Izuku grit his teeth and began to walk down the street, a hand on the wall of the joined houses for support. 

Clack

He paused. Looking down, Izuku saw something white but did not dare to pick it up for a closer look. He moved his hand a little bit further down the wall as he stepped over whatever it was he hit. In doing so, he noticed that the wall's texture suddenly felt pocked and bubbled. Turning to look at the wall, he felt his heart skip in shock. 

A silhouette. A human shadow burned into the wall. 

Looking around, in the light of the full moon, Izuku could see many more human shadows burned into the street and walls of the surrounding houses. 

“What’s happened here?” Izuku wondered as tears welled in his eyes. Blinking them away, he continued walking. He had no clue where he was going but he just knew he had to get away from that massive metal grid behind him. 

Backup link to photo here

Thirty agonizing minutes of slow unsteady walking, moving around rusted abandoned vehicles and potholes, down the street felt more like an eternity to Izuku. But with every step he took, the buzzing and pressure in his head lessened by a fraction. He eventually reached an intersection, and there in the middle of the road was a barricade. Izuku paid it little mind, determined to keep moving. However, when he sidestepped the metal barricade, he slipped sideways with a yelp. Fortunately, he caught himself by grabbing onto the barricade. With a sigh of relief, Izuku checked to see what it was he slipped on. There in the dark, the light of the moon glinted off multiple small cylinders on the ground. He picked one up and held it up to what little light there was. It was a bullet casing. They were all bullet casings. Dozens upon dozens of them littered the ground. Not only that, but they were unblemished and gunpowder residue was left on Izuku’s fingers as he examined the bronze casing. They were shot recently, given the lack of oxidation and the acrid scent of gunpowder that cut through the air heavy with moisture from recent rainfall. 

Izuku could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he filled with dread. This meant there were people nearby, heavily armed and fairly capable. More so, what could require so much ammunition to be expended? Izuku scanned the area nervously. There weren’t any bodies or blood to be seen. Why were there no corpses or evidence of wounded combatants?

He didn’t like this. Izuku strained his ears, hoping to hear something, anything at all. A second passed, yet all he heard were the sounds of crickets and an audible, yet nearly silent, buzz, which Izuku could only guess possibly came from the large metal structure behind him. Just as he sighed in relief, he heard something akin to static in the air around him. Confused, Izuku started twisting his head as he searched for the source of the sound. Then he looked up.

Backup link to photo here

‘What in the name of all that is holy is that thing!’ There above his very head, was a crackling ball of electricity, floating about 30 meters in the air. What’s more, it was growing in size, and that static sound was getting louder. Izuku’s hair stood on end and his instincts were screaming at him to run. So run he did, scrambling to keep his feet under him, as the static began to pick up in intensity, turning into a grating whine. And just as he ran about 10 meters down the road, with a huge clap of thunder, the ball exploded in a flash of white, a wave of electricity discharging outwards, and a bolt of lightning struck the ground right where Izuku had been standing. The ground shook, knocking him ass backward to the floor, and electricity crackled and sparked where the bolt of lightning struck, the metal barricade and bronze casings glowing white and blue with the jumping current for a few seconds before the energy dispersed.

“What the… Holy crap! Holy-! What just freaking happened?!” Izuku hissed, absolutely dumbstruck. For a second, Izuku briefly considered if it was a quirk, but dismissed that idea. There is no one here. So what on God’s green Earth was that thing? Had he not trusted his gut, he’d have been toast, likely dust in the wind. Izuku swallowed, attempting to clear the lump of fear in his throat. Something was up with this place, and frankly, given his experiences so far, he didn’t like it one bit. 

Izuku stood up, careful to not mess up his arm any further, though it seemed that the syringe he used earlier was helping to dull the sensation of having something unpleasant inside him now. He looked over his shoulder, peeking back down the road he’d been about to walk to when whatever that thing was appeared. The paved road was coming to an end about another 100 meters down the road to a gate that was ajar, beyond that, he could see a large building. While Izuku was still fairly unsure what he should be doing, where he should be going, his gut was telling him to keep walking, to keep going on through that gate, past all the buildings to come, and leave this wretched, dead place.

So he walked. He walked on through that gate, hugging the concrete walls that extended from the gate, ducking into the bushes when he heard various distant voices speaking in what sounded like French and German. His instincts nudged him to keep moving, that he could not trust them, to stay hidden. So he hid, crawling among the brush past the Sports Center where the voices all seemed to come from, past the collapsed apartment buildings. And when a gurgled roar cut through the air, Izuku’s instincts told him to duck into the storm drain on the side of the road. Izuku jumped right in, operating on autopilot. Now underground, he crawled through the damp tunnel down the street he’d been following, water pooling into his already drenched and filthy sneakers. He flinched upon hearing distant bursts of gunfire and more roars from what he assumed was the base of those foreigners. The gunfire ceased following a multitude of piercing howls and roars, the silence and crickets returning once more, yet he would not leave this drain pipe. 

After several minutes Izuku had managed to crawl close enough to what appeared to be an opening. Just ahead, moonlight reflected off the water from openings on the left and right of the pipe he was in. Peeking around the corner, Izuku realized that the pipes opened up into a ditch where the water drained into. Crawling out, Izuku could see that the road he crawled under now led through another gate and into a dirt path that cut through some woods. 

He climbed out of the ditch, heels and toes digging into the muddy slope as he slowly and cautiously progressed up to the road.

The walk up the road was quiet save for the abundance of crickets, the distant bursts of gunfire, and indistinguishable cries. Yeah, it really wasn’t all that quiet. The moon disappeared behind the thick canopy of the unruly woods. The mind numbing darkness that seemed to thicken as the road broke apart into a dirt path and the surrounding forest thickened only served to amplify the terrifying ambience.

The roaring silence also brought the one thing Izuku had been wanting to avoid – his thoughts.

‘Where the hell am I? What is this freaking place? What was all that? AND HOW AM I EVEN HER– ugh!’ Izuku stumbled mid stride, grasping his head with his left hand. ‘And why does it feel like my head is full of angry African bees throwing a steroid fueled rager?’ Izuku growled, swearing that this was worse than that one time Bakugou decided to use Izuku as a practice dummy for a purely concussive blast he was workshopping. 

Izuku breathed heavily. Now was not the time to just stop and whimper like a pup, no matter how much he wanted to curl up into a fetal position and cry. Get up. Get up and walk. This is not where you’ll take the abyssal sleep. Not yet. His instincts urged him to move, to keep going. So Izuku took that step forward, his breath heavy and hitching, but he kept moving. He kept walking, even when his vision swam and yellowed. His steps were heavy, dragging, and unsteady, his body taking a completely nonuniform path as the dirt road seemed to disappear and reappear at random. But with every instinctually driven step, his confidence grew.

At least it did until the woods thinned out, and Izuku’s head flared in pain as he gazed upon the large complex that seemed to suddenly emerge from the woods to his left. The intensity of it was so strong, Izuku swore that he could feel the air literally buzzing on his tongue with every breath, tinged with the taste of metal and acidity. 

Instinctually, Izuku turned away from the complex, fixing his eyes on the ground and began to briskly walk forward, paying little attention to the warped and utterly impossible jagged “mound” (if you can even call whatever it is that) of earth. He paid no mind to the various distortions or the heat that surrounded the unnatural structure, his mind blank and body driven by the instinctual need to keep moving. The consequence of this action however, was that Izuku never noticed the big fuck off boar napping beside the damn thing.

It was only when it released an unholy squeal as Izuku passed it that he finally noticed, which just so happened to be around the point that his head quit hurting and his vision looked a lot less like piss and more like glorious high definition cinema. And boy, what a time to be perceiving a freaking 500 pound boar standing at 1.5 meters tall in 8K magnificence!

Izuku broke into a sprint, hoping and praying that the gigantic boar would just leave him alone. But looking back, he could see that the boar was gaining ground. Ahead, Izuku could see that he was nearing the pond. 

‘Crap, crap, crap!’ Izuku’s mind raced as he tried to figure a way out of this. ‘There is no way I’m going to outrun this thing!’ His legs were already burning from exertion, the lack of any physical training on top of walking for the last hour whilst injured and disoriented were already wearing on him, the first of which was really biting him in the ass as Izuku was cursing himself under his breath between panted breaths. But this exhaustion did make him far more aware of the weight at his hip, that rhythmic thumping against his thigh from iron and reinforced nylon as it flopped with each stride, held to his side by a single MOLLE strap. Izuku’s left hand grasped the grip of the handgun, the retention strap rubbing against the webbing of his thumb and forefinger uncomfortably as he ran for his life.

‘I really don’t want to use this thing, but I have to. If I can scare it off, then good, but I can’t… I don’t want to kill… I have to do this.’ The shore of the pond was clearly visible now, a mere handful of meters away, and Izuku could hear the huffing and pumping hooves of the boar. Izuku fumbled with the retention strap of the holster, the hook and loop strap eventually giving way with that characteristic ripping sound of velcro being pulled apart in a hurry. Handgun now in hand, Izuku spun on his heels, shoes carving a divot into the muddy grass. Vaguely, he registered the fact that he was only a stone’s throw away from the pond, and of a very quiet hissing sound nearby, but he paid it no mind. Instead, his mind focused on the boar charging right at him, about twenty meters from him. He brought the gun up to bear in the direction of the beast, steeling himself for what he was about to do, and squeezed the trigger.

But it didn’t budge. Izuku poured more strength into his finger but the trigger refused to move. He squeezed and squeezed but the iron would not yield to its new wielder. Why? Why would it not fire?

“Crap!” Izuku panicked, glancing at the gun. “Please! Oh God, please fire!” He looked back up at the boar, which had now covered half the distance it had between them previously. “Go away!” Izuku shouted at the animal, his voice cracking as he pleaded. “Leave me alone!” He took a step back as it prepared to lunge, tears streamed down his face. He ducked, closed his eyes, and screamed, “I don’t want to die!”

BOOM BOOM

Izuku flinched as something broke through the silence of the night with two loud booms behind him and heard a squeal followed by a heavy thud. The sound of water sloshing and dripping, as well as the clacking of metal on metal and heavy breathing made him aware that he was no longer alone. Slowly, Izuku opened his eyes. There in front of him, illuminated by a flood of light, the boar laid, huffing and whimpering in pain, blood pooling around its grotesque form.

“No point letting it suffer, much less when it's just acting on some baser instincts. But I guess there’s also no point in letting it try to gnaw on some scrawny tourist, heh.”

Another boom sounded and the poor beast stilled in death, whilst Izuku winced, his ears briefly deafened and ringing. With a swirl, he gasped, and got a good look at his apparent savior.

Standing at nearly six feet tall, the man was garbed in a blue rubber suit, an oxygen tank visible over his shoulder that had a hose leading to a respirator that hung from his neck, with an armored plate carrier over his chest, and in his hands was an over-under shotgun. Three large metal containers hung from the man’s belt alongside a small pistol holster. Izuku could not clearly see the man’s face, as the glare of the headlamp the man was wearing was obscuring any recognizable features.

“Holy shit, what’s a kid like you doing here? Don’t tell me some professor got the bright idea to take his class on a roadside picnic through the ass crack of the Zone!?” The man’s headlamp shifted, and the light shone onto the boy. “Shit! You got stabbed too? Wha- how in the… Is that a Monolith blade? Gavno, kid you look like shit! Hold on, let's see if I can fix you up a bit and I’ll take you back to base to get properly treated. No offense to the eggheads at the bunker here, but I don’t trust them with actually taking care of anyone without them somehow being treated like some experiment.” 

The man stepped forward, rummaging through the pockets of his plate carrier, but Izuku stumbled backward, bringing the gun up with a trembling hand, unsure of the stranger in front of him. The stranger presented an open hand in a placating gesture. “Woah! Hey, easy there kid! I’m just getting some supplies out so I can clean you up and make sure you don’t get an infection from that knife.” The man paused for a moment, then turned his headlamp off. Now free of the glare, Izuku could see the man’s face. He was a man somewhere in his forties, with dark stubbly cheeks, a prominently crooked nose, thinly pressed mouth, crows feet which branched from deeply set hazel eyes, and combined with his furrowed brows framed by long and dripping dark shaggy hair, expressed his concern for the injured boy. Those hazel eyes, warm and while just barely visible in the low light, shone with light– with humanity.

“Wh-who are you?” Izuku asked, relaxing a bit as he slowly put the pistol on the ground. 

The man knelt, pulling a large clear bottle, some packaged rolls of gauze, a small black case, and a blister pack of ten yellow tablets from a satchel that was fastened to the MOLLE webbing of the plate carrier’s lower back. “The name is Ilia, but everyone calls me Diver. You should too.” Diver unzipped the small black case to reveal a pair of trauma scissors, a surgical stapler, various hemostats, a scalpel, and a few packaged items Izuku could not identify. Diver slipped the trauma scissors out from their elastic sheathe and held a hand out to Izuku. “I’m going to have to cut your sleeve so I can see what I’m working with here. While I do that, why don’t you tell me a little bit about you. What’s your name kid? How’d you even get into this hellhole?”

Izuku sluggishly gave his injured arm to Diver, the combination of the numbing from the improvised tourniquet and the syringe he used an hour ago, alongside the blood loss and adrenal crash, were hitting him hard now that he was on the ground catching his breath. He licked his lips as he vaguely registered the large amount of fluid loss and stress he’s endured. Diver began cutting through the sleeve of Izuku’s blazer when he spoke.  “Um, I’m Izuku. I… I don’t know how I got here. I don’t even know where here is! I was just running home from school one second and the next I was being pinned to a radio antenna with this knife by some guy in white and gray camo like I was just another butterfly on his pin board. And there were a bunch of guys dressed like him everywhere, on their knees just sitting still or bobbing their heads in a circular motion. It was- it was like they were praying to something… and I think it was talking back.”

Diver stopped cutting, the sleeve of the blazer opened to reveal the extent of the wound, and looked at Izuku in shock. “What?” Diver whispered. “Go back… did you say that they were wearing white and gray camo? And that they were praying?” 

Izuku nodded and Diver cursed. “Pizdec nahui blyat ya ebal! Are you kidding me right now?” He gripped a handful of his soggy hair, growling. “God damn it! Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!” Diver punched the ground with each damnation. “I thought we were finally done with those fucking zealots! As if the Renegades and Bandits weren't bad enough, after 7 years of fucking off to God knows where, those pridurki decide to poke their dicks out in the open again.” The man looked Izuku in the eyes and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Kid, I need you to tell me everything that happened. Did you see anything? Did they say anything that stuck out to you?” 

“I- I think we were in a d- destroyed hospital. I can vaguely remember seeing gurneys and medical equipment on the ground. They kept talking about some Monolith, and referred to me as a Conduit, but I don’t know why. And… they brought me here, to this place somehow, at least that’s what it sounded like they were saying. I managed to get away from the guy who stabbed me, that preacher sounding guy, by kicking him. No one tried to stop me for some reason but then… then I don’t really know what happened. I found myself in some place that was completely white and there was this– this glowing rock thing that was– it freaking spoke to me. It spoke to me and-and… it wanted me. I don’t know for what, and I don’t know how I did it, but I yelled at it and next thing I know, I’m waking up in some apartment in a pool of my blood.” Izuku explained, his voice soft and quiet, only holding constrained malice when regarding that object he encountered.

“Hey, kid…did you pick that up off the preacher?” Diver asked quietly, pointing at the handgun Izuku still clutched in his left hand. “Ah yeah, I did. Kind of just grabbed it after I kicked him because I wanted to disarm him.” Izuku explained, wincing in pain as Diver poured vodka over the wound. Diver wiped away the blood and alcohol with a pad of gauze, making certain that the wound was cleaner than clean. 

“You mind letting me take a look at it? I have to check something. I’ll explain in a second.” Diver asked, tossing the soiled gauze pad aside as he looked Izuku in the eyes. Izuku nodded, and handed the handgun over to Diver, barrel pointed to the ground just as he’s seen Snipe handle a firearm in an old video of the time he arrested a bank robber. Taking the gun, Diver examined it under the light of his headlamp for a second, turning it over before swearing softly.

“It just keeps getting better and better, huh?” Diver muttered. Izuku, puzzled by Diver’s words, examined the gun in the man’s hands but could not decipher what he was getting worked up by. Not that it was any surprise though, as Izuku was a hero nerd, and in no way an expert in firearms.  “What is it, Mr. Ilia?” Diver snorted, “Call me Diver, kid. And what’s wrong is that this here is a H&K USP Compact Tactical chambered in .45 ACP. And the only people that carry this piece in the Zone are the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant Monolith Guards. If one of them is not only wandering about that far from the center of the Zone, but is going about as a Preacher, then shit is way worse than I thought and they’ve been regrouping for far longer than I was initially thinking. Damn it.” Diver put a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, “Kid, I have to get you back to base as soon as possible. Right now, you are the most valuable source of intel we have on an old problem that could be coming back worse than ever.” 

Diver flipped the gun around until he was holding it by the barrel, presenting the grip to Izuku. “Listen up. As much as I’d like to know more of your story of how you got here and where you’re from, we’ve got to get you someplace safe. The Zone is an awful and dangerous place and I can tell you don’t know fuck all about keeping yourself safe. From now on this pistol is going to be your best friend, lover, and protector.” Izuku gaped, unsure of what the man was saying. “Ah, I know that look. Kid, I’ve seen tourists and rookies bite the bullet just because they hesitate to pull the trigger. You’re the youngest face I’ve seen in this hellhole so far and I refuse to let you die like a damned fool. Look here-“ Diver pointed to a lever on the side of the gun, “that’s the safety and decocker. When the white line is inline with the white S, it is safe and can not be fired. Flip the lever down so the red F is inline with the white line and you’re good to fire the gun.” Diver then pulled the hammer back with his thumb and then flicked the safety lever all the way down. With an audible click that caused Izuku to flinch, the hammer returned to the disengaged position. Diver looked back at Izuku, placing the gun back on safe, “Push the lever all the way down until you hear a click and that means the hammer is no longer cocked and ready to fire. You can now put the gun on safe and be 100% sure it won’t fire by accident. Do keep in mind that if you need to fire the gun, having the hammer pre-cocked makes the trigger pull lighter and faster to fire. So I personally think you should keep it cocked when you’re not somewhere safe.” 

Izuku gingerly took the gun from Diver and placed it back into the holster. Diver cleared his throat, “So here’s the plan: I’m going to bandage you up, then we’re going to have to do a light jog through Agroprom and skirt around the research institute there. Military have set up base there, and let's just say they don’t take kindly to any stalkers who aren’t Ecologists. Now here’s the thing, normally I take a route through an underwater pipe that leads into the swamp waters, allowing me to bypass the less… savory denizens along the northern path. But that won’t be an option with you. It’s heavily irradiated, and I don’t have an extra dive kit for you to use, so we’re going to have to take the northern path unfortunately. As soon as we get past the railroad, we have to fucking book it, do you understand? Run because your life depends on it.” Izuku nodded shakily. Diver sighed, “Good. It’s likely going to still be dark when we get to the path so I’ll attach a chemlight to my suit so you don’t lose me. Follow every step I take, don’t stray away. The Zone is a cruel and unfair mistress.”

“U-understood, Mr. Ilia.” Izuku stammered. Diver rubbed his forehead with an open palm. “Damn it, it's just Diver, Kid. We don’t do real names here. Stalker names replace that, primarily for security reasons. Anyone using their real name is either a tourist, rookie, Ecologist, an unaffiliated Merc, or Military. Stalkers don’t name themselves, they earn their name. I only gave you my first name to help you calm down. Now come on, let's get this arm wrapped up quick and hopefully we’ll get by the military base before the guards that are still half asleep get replaced by a fresh shift.”

With that said, Diver took a package of gauze and tore it open, taking the roll out and wrapping up Izuku’s arm starting from the wrist to an inch above the elbow, careful about how he wrapped the gauze around the knife in Izuku’s arm. “You did a great job with that belt. Most of the young fools that venture into the Zone don’t have a single fucking clue about first aid or trauma care. I do have a proper tourniquet on me but I don’t want to risk a red geyser with how much blood you’ve already lost while I try replacing it. We’ll keep it as is for now, it's doing a good enough job. But here, take these.” Diver grabbed the blister pack of yellow tablets and popped two out, handing them to Izuku. 

Izuku rolled them in his palm, spotting the letter V indented into the surface of the tablets. “What are these?” Izuku asked, looking back up at Diver. “That right there is Vinca, Zone produced antihemorrhagic medication. Won’t replace bandages, but it will keep you from bleeding out over time and replenish some blood. Lots of rookies write the stuff off, but trust me, no veteran stalker leaves their hideout without some in their IFAK or trauma pack.” Diver explained, gathering up his supplies into the trauma satchel on his back.

Izuku let out a shaky breath and promptly popped the tablets into his mouth, swallowing them without a drop of water. Given the desire to get someplace safer to address the freaking knife in his arm, he was willing to deal with the discomfort of dry swallowing meds if it meant not being in the open a minute less. With a huff, he got up to his feet and adjusted his sling so as to keep the arm tightly secured to his chest.

”Alright, Kid, you good to go?” Diver asked, donning a dark blue overcoat over his equipment, the respirator now secured to his plate carrier rather than hanging from his neck as it was previously.

”Um, yeah. I think I’m ready.” Izuku replied, fidgeting with the straps of the gas mask bag. Diver nodded and turned away. “Good, stay behind me, maintaining combat spacing, 5 meter separation. If I stop, you stop. If I crouch, you crouch. If I squat for a shit, you squat for a shit. Got it? Cock that hammer and keep up. Heels to toes to keep it quiet, mind any branches.” Diver broke into a light jog, going right to bypass the pond. 

Startled halfway into starting his jog, Izuku fumbled with the gun at his side, managing to clumsily pull the hammer back on the holstered pistol. The gun having been prepped for fire, Izuku continued to keep pace with Diver, falling in behind the man as he was instructed.

”Um, Mr. Ili- ah! Mr. Diver, why exactly are we supposed to keep 5 meters apart?” Izuku asked as they approached a fenced slope, with a narrow opening just barely concealed by the overgrown bushes and wild trees. 

Ahead, Diver gave a barely audible chuckle. “Right, I forgot to treat you like a rookie. Well, combat spacing is usually kept at 5 meters for multiple reasons.” Diver paused as he ducked under a branch and swept aside the overgrowth blocking the opening, vaulting over a fallen log. “Hup. You see, 5 meters is the optimal distance for troops to maintain good visual of and communication with each other. It also ensures that any enemies firing on said troops from range can’t easily target more than one man. Maybe one or two guys get suppressed, but it allows for the rest to pop in and out of cover from somewhere else and engage the threat.” Izuku carefully climbed over the log as Diver trudged up the path. “Oh, and it will keep the possibility of mass-cas down. Grenades usually have a 5 meter lethal radius, so if one lands close, hit the deck and chances are only one person will get hurt. But if land mines are suspected to be in the area, we’ll take up a 20 meter column formation.” Diver looked back over his shoulder to Izuku, “Though the 5+ meter separation also helps with anomalies, and trust me, between an anomaly or a face full of lead, I’d take the lead any day.”

With a final sweep of overgrown foliage, Diver paused, swatting a fly away from his face while he waited for Izuku to catch up. Once Diver was able to see Izuku stumbling through the foliage like a drunk with his pants down, Diver turned back around and continued his pace down the clear dirt path. 

“Um, Mr. Diver, sir…” Izuku huffed as he jumped back into a jogging pace to catch up with the older man. “Uff, you’ve mentioned something about a zone a few times, what did you mean by that?” 

With an admittedly shameful squawk, Diver stumbled over his own feet at Izuku’s question, but was able to successfully recover and maintain his jogging pace. “What the–? Kid, are you serious? How the actual fuck do you not know what it is? You’re in the Zone!” Diver huffed in disbelief, “Damn, what the hell are they teaching kids these days.” He whispered. “Alright Kid, history lesson with Professor Diver, take notes because this shit is common knowledge ‘round the Clear Sky ranks and some of it can even save your life later. 

Diver checked over his shoulder, making sure that the boy was still following behind him within listening distance. Satisfied that Izuku was still jogging close by like a drunk late for work, Diver turned his eyes back to the path ahead, keeping his ears open for any potential dangers ahead.

“Listen up. Back in '91, when the Soviet Union crumbled, some of the researchers working in the Chornobyl Exclusion Zone, well they didn't skip a beat. They kept doing their work without the oversight of the government, Soviet or Ukrainian. They had the freedom to do whatever they wanted in a place no one wanted to go near, not that anyone could in the collapse. With Ukraine left scrambling to get shit together, there was no one keeping tabs on the weirdness going on. Research didn't slow down either; if anything, it picked up pace. These Soviet brainiacs kept on with their bizarre experiments, forming what they call "the Group." They were dabbling in all sorts of strange stuff, like psychotropic weapons and meddling with something they called the Noosphere.”

Something rustled in the bushes several meters ahead, prompting Diver to stop talking and stop, his left arm raised in a fist to signal a stop to Izuku. The boy stuttered to a stop, his legs barely able to keep up with the action on such slick ground. Diver opened his hand, palm facing the ground as he crouched, the gesture clear to Izuku as an order to stay low. The blue suited soldier shouldered his shotgun as a dark figure emerged from the growth. Distant growls and grunts could be heard as the creature came into the light of the moon. 

It was a horribly mangled and hairless dog, the size of Shiba Inu, its skin just barely covering its body as portions seemed to be missing and allowed for the musculature underneath to be exposed. It was a pale and vile looking thing, but the most striking characteristic of the beast was its lack of eyes. Where they should be was simply a mass of mottled and tumorous flesh. Even then, the creature seemed to notice the two, its teeth bared in a grim snarl as it guarded the object it had been dragging through the brush. Dimly, through the shadows of the wood and filtered moonlight, Izuku could make out the rough features of a hood and boots. It was the carcass of a man. The boy’s mouth, previously heavy and dry from his journey through the dilapidated and ruined city and near goring by the mutated boar, was now awash with the taste of barely contained bile. 

Diver’s eyes narrowed as the dog sniffed the air a few times before resuming to drag the body to the other side of the road with a final huff. The soldier waited a minute after the dog disappeared back into the growth with its prize before rising to his feet. Izuku did the same, trembling slightly in horror and disgust. 

“Wh-what was that?” Izuku breathed. “Blind Dog.” Diver rolled a shoulder, checking over his shotgun briefly as he answered. “The abandoned dogs of Chernobyl from the first disaster thrived here, and after the second disaster, they are fucking flourishing. The Zone, the actions of the Group, made monsters of them, the poor wretches. Excellent pack hunters they are, but even a lone dog is cunning enough to kill a man.” Giving the brush one last cursory glance, Diver held his shotgun in a low ready position. “Alright, let’s go, but keep your eyes and ears open.”

Izuku nodded shakily, a gesture unacknowledged by the man focused on the path ahead as they resumed their jog, albeit cautiously. As they neared the spot where the dog had passed through, Diver slowed his pace by a small amount as he took a purposefully large step. The confusion Izuku felt over the action was immediately dashed as he too got close to the area and saw why Diver had done what he had. A lengthy trail of dark viscous blood stained the path, but it was the long trailing and still dragging intestine that forced Izuku to vomit bile. Izuku gagged at the taste of acid staining his mouth and gruesome sight in front of him. What the hell was this place?

“Come on Kid! Keep moving or that dog might decide you’d be a fresher meal!” Diver hissed from the darkness. 

Izuku’s head snapped up to peer back at the still jogging man before nodding numbly and jumping over the trailing gore, following after the man with a more harried pace and fervor. Hearing the boy resume moving, Diver chose to return to where they had left off in their history lesson in hopes of taking the encounter off the boy’s mind. 

“So, where was I?” Diver thought for a second before remembering. “Oh yeah! Fast forward to '99, the government of Ukraine finally decides to poke its nose into the Zone's affairs. Found out there were all sorts of shady dealings happening, but did nothing about it. Around 2003, the Agroprom Research Institute, where we’re heading now actually, got roped into this mess too. They switched from farming to helping out this Group, getting them gear and cash under the radar while pretending to still be doing their agricultural research. See, the Group had big dreams. They wanted to fix humanity's flaws by tinkering with the Noosphere. So, they cooked up this plan for a "C-Consciousness." Seven folks volunteered for a wild experiment. Tried to make everyone all peaceful and nice by pulling out the bad in humanity from the Noosphere, but it backfired big time. First go-round on March 4, 2006, they got interrupted by a blackout. But they tried again on April 12, 2006, and this time, they messed up big time. Instead of fixing stuff, they tore a hole in the Noosphere, creating the Zone, where physics takes a holiday and strange shit happens.”

Diver paused, checking his watch. 03:30, they still had 30 minutes before the guard change at Agroprom. They should arrive a few minutes before then, he reckoned. 

“See, instead of getting rid of all that’s bad about humanity, they just brought it on down to manifest both physically and metaphysically, as some of the docs say. That mess split up the Group. Some folks bailed, but others, like Lebedev, Suslov, and Kalancha, God rest their souls, they stuck around and formed Clear Sky, the faction I’m a member of. Our goal? Figure out how to fix what they broke or at least keep the Zone from getting worse. Meanwhile, the C-Consciousness was trying to keep a lid on things, using mind control and spooky psychic shit to protect themselves. They set up this Brain Scorcher thing to fry anyone nosing around too much and roped in some goons and a few leftover Group members called the Monolith, those nasty fuckwads you had the displeasure of meeting, to keep the Zone on lockdown. All to keep their messed-up experiment from falling apart.”

Izuku was quiet, carefully digesting all this, but a point stuck out to him. “Hold on… 2006? Chornobyl Exclusion Zone? That would not only imply that the Second Disaster was the responsibility of a private research group, but the forced evolution of humanity that came about from the meddling with this Noosphere… The Glowing Baby was born the Spring of 2007, and the Dawn of Quirks began…  By 2018 the first generation of quirk users were recognized and… Wait, you mean to say that the Group is responsible for the creation of Quirks?!” Izuku cut his rapid fire murmur with the final exclamation, just barely keeping his balance as he jogged behind Diver in his excitement.

Diver slowed to a power walk as he turned his head to look back at Izuku. Unobscured by the trees, the moonlight shined bright enough for Izuku to see the disturbingly clear expression of confusion that Diver wore. A pit of discomfort formed in his stomach as the man opened his mouth and spoke.

”Kid, what the fuck is a Quirk?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: At Dawn

29 June 2156, 02:15

Mustafa, Japan

This is it. This is the case that finally was going to kill him. He always thought it was his role in helping to track and take down All for One that was going to have him kick the bucket, either by the monster himself, or by any one of that man’s more loyal subordinates. But nope, this is definitely the one. Either it was going to be the shit load of paperwork and subsequent censorship on his behalf, the loads of legal red tape the HPSC was going to go through to keep this (and quite possibly himself) buried, or the alcohol poisoning he was subjecting himself to currently. Ever since he’d gotten home, he’d chosen to take a look into the memory stick that Midoriya had handed him earlier.

Plugging it into his laptop, Naomasa had found that Midoriya copied over a journal, an encyclopedia just as was promised, and a password protected folder titled “Chimera” that a quick properties check revealed to contain nearly 53 GB worth of data. He had puzzled that one over for a bit before choosing to simply start reading Midoriya’s incredibly well organized journal. It took an hour to read through just the first two entries that were simply a rambling mix of theories surrounding Midoriya’s apparent jaunt through time and space, as well as a retelling of his first month spent in the Zone, simply recovering from his encounter with members of this Monolith faction Midoriya seemed to hastily speak of, as well as helping around and training at the Clear Sky base he’d been escorted to. Clearly the experience of being suddenly transported to Eastern Europe and stabbed by villains almost immediately upon arrival in what seemed to be a cult ritual had traumatized Midoriya, but it didn’t explain how he had come to be the Midoriya that the detective had met at the hospital. Then he read the third entry, marked almost a month and a half after the second entry. Then the fourth, followed by the fifth. By the sixth, he’d broken out the bottle of tequila his father had given him years ago, when he’d still been a fresh officer, after a particularly bad case involving a child caught in the crossfire of a turf war. He didn’t drink a drop from it then, but now… now he felt like he needed it. Before he knew it, he’d read up to ten entries of Izuku’s first three months in the Zone, was five shots in, and he truly understood.

Izuku had been fundamentally changed, damaged by his experiences, and the boy–no, the man–that came back was clearly going to need extensive help adjusting to life back in Japan. Only a few entries into the journal and he could easily compile a list of triggers for Midoriya’s PTSD–no way any sane person can walk away from all that without PTSD–that would need to be addressed by a professional. But that was the clincher. Midoriya would have to see someone and build a level of trust. Someone that wouldn’t just treat him like a case study and report everything to Madam President. Because for as much as the detective was an officer of the law and sought to uphold justice, he’d trust the woman just as far as he can throw the shrew, and he was fairly certain the same would go for Izuku if any hero shrink backed by the HPSC came waltzing in with a plastic smile and a velveteen chaise lounge. Oh yeah, he can definitely see how well that would go.

Naomasa slumped over his desk, the laptop set aside as the third journal entry sat open, the words pulsing a sense of unease in the drunken man. An unease that also brought a decision to help the young soldier, to provide the man with the chance to engage in a new fight while healing from the wounds unseen. Naomasa pulled out his phone and thumbed through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for. With as much grace as he could muster in his inebriated state, the detective attached his police report of the day as well as a copy of the first three journal entries to the message and sent. Knowing the recipient, they’d likely read through it all once dawn breaks. Satisfied, Naomasa went limp as his breath evened and slowed, sleep claiming the hard working detective easily.

Izuku couldn’t sleep. His bed was too soft, never mind the size of the bed itself being more suited to his shorter stature from three years ago. He could not smell the moist air, the rotting wood, or the decaying worn cloth that he was so used to. He could not hear the distant cries of mutants, gunfire, screams of agony, or even cawing crows and croaking frogs he’d gotten so used to. The sounds of night time civilization felt wrong to him, like he was hearing the psychic imprints in Pripiat. The shadows of denizens lost. But it was real now, in a place he had called home. And it unnerved him greatly. He could not sleep, try as he might, laying in the dark in his old room, clothed in a set of his father’s old sleepwear his mother had stored away, throat still shrouded by the flecktarn neck gaiter, his trusted blade gripped tightly beneath his pillow.

He was being watched, not merely by the crap load of All Might merch he had crowding his room, but by someone. He had no clue who, and not necessarily at this very moment, but his gut never failed him. He was being monitored, his abnormal return had caught someone’s attention and now he was going to be specimen numero uno for mister Big Brother. Point is, there is no way some missing quirkless kid just pops out of an anomaly in the middle of town, in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of people, armed to the teeth on live TV and just be forgotten by the powers that be. Nope, nope, nope. He wasn’t even being paranoid about this and it was still going to bug him enough that he wasn’t going to be able to get a wink of sleep in this shrine he dared to call a bedroom as a snot nosed kid with big dreams.

Izuku sighed, sitting up in his bed and twirling the knife between his fingers. Looking around the room, his eyes settled on the wrapped bundle on his desk. Izuku’s eyes narrowed and he set his knife down on the nightstand, getting up and walking over to his desk. Settling into the desk chair, Izuku turned on the desk lamp and quickly began to unwrap the thick cloth. Inside lay his AK-104 and USP Compact. Or rather, his handgun and what was left of his Kalash.

Izuku positioned the lamp over the weapon and grimaced at what he saw. The B-10M and B-19 handguards were cracked to hell. Izuku was able to pry off the B-19 with his hands and immediately wished he hadn’t. The gas tube was undeniably destroyed and the barrel was bent. It was a miracle that the front sight post was even still on, let alone that the RK-1 foregrip had managed to stay on the rail. The dust cover though… Izuku felt his right eye twitch as he inspected the damage. He removed the magazine and cleared the chamber, vaguely noting that the charging handle was thankfully not damaged, before pressing the retaining button at the end of the B-33 dust cover and lifting the whole mangled cover off the rifle given the fact that the hinges connecting the cover to the B-10M handguard had also cracked. Izuku set the poor thing aside and pulled out the recoil spring assembly and the bolt carrier. While clearing the rifle, the action had felt fine, but Izuku felt better knowing he checked every millimeter of this rifle. With practiced precision, he inspected the internals, and suffice to say, he was pretty pissed. The gas piston had snapped, and the trigger assembly was fucked. All in all, his rifle was looking more like a Khyber Pass copy — really cool in appearance, but ready to fuck you over in a fight.

“Fucking hell, how am I supposed to get replacement parts, let alone new Zenitco furniture, in Japan? Thank all that is just that I didn’t have an optic on the rail or else that would be fucked too.” Izuku hissed, setting aside the broken parts and accessories that weren’t pinned or riveted in place. Turning the rifle over, he began to reassemble what little he could to avoid losing the surviving pieces. “At least the PT-3 stock is fine since it was folded when that Giant Rock Lady, or whatever, bitch slapped me. Cyka Blyat, I’m going to find her and first chance I get, I’m gonna introduce some iron to her diet. Cast iron.” Grumbling to himself, Izuku set the rifle beside his large bag, leaning it against the desk.

Setting himself back into the chair, Izuku picked up his USP and began to inspect it, making sure to remove the magazine, clear the chamber, and decock the hammer before field stripping it. Thankfully, it seemed that the handgun was still intact, albeit quite dirty. Izuku hummed, reaching into a side pocket of his bag and pulling out a cleaning kit and a rag. Picking out the bottles of Hoppe’s 9 bore cleaner and lubricating oil, Izuku began wiping down the exterior of the firearm, the rag and oil making quick work of the residual gunpowder and dried mud caking the surface. Putting the rag down, he began to clear the handgun and field strip it, setting the slide, barrel, recoil spring, and slide release on the desk. Frame of the gun in hand, Izuku set about dotting the internals with lubricant that doubled as cleaning solvent, brushing away the corrosive powders with a nylon brush. In doing so, his mind began to wander.

Wander back to where it began…

7 May 2018, 03:40

Agroprom, The Zone

The silence between the two was palpable, akin to a bowl of borscht, unanswered questions filling the atmosphere with an unseen weight. After Diver had asked about quirks, Izuku had become a sputtering mess, as more and more of everything Diver had explained truly sunk in. And Izuku was only able to ask one question in response.

“Mr. Diver… What year is it?”

Izuku was crumbling inside, reality folding on itself and fluxing. Time itself seemed to stretch on as Diver opened his mouth.

“Nope, nuh uh. Not doing this. We don’t got time to be squatting in the middle of the Zone and shoot the shit about time travel and anomalies. There’s twenty minutes until the next shift change at Agroprom, let's get a move on while those chums are still on dick watch.” Diver resumed his jog down the dirt path, shotgun firmly in hand and a hard tone in his voice. 

“Wha-? But!” Izuku started. “Fuck no, I’m not the scientist in the faction, I’m the soldier.” Diver interjected. “You wanna get your mind blown by possible Zone bullshit, you can wait to talk to them, but I refuse to haul a catatonic kid all the way to the fucking base. So keep up, we’re losing time!” 

With a huff, Izuku scrambled to keep up with the older man, the scattered moonlight illuminating the soldier’s blue rubber suit just enough for the boy to keep an eye on as he attempted to maintain the specified 5 meter spacing.

“Mr. Diver, where do you fit in all this? How did you come to join Clear Sky? I know you said Clear Sky was started by some scientists from the Group, but you did just mention that you’re a soldier. No offense toward your capabilities, but how does that work?” Izuku queried, making a mental note to pursue his earlier line of questioning later with said scientific staff of Clear Sky.

Diver chuckled, “It's alright Kid. I’m actually from Belarus. I was a member of the Soviet naval Spetsnaz, but with the fall of the Soviet Union I was left with two options as a plucky 25 year old killing machine, either I integrate with the Belarusian counter terrorism unit while they still scramble to get their shit together, or I go mercenary and have something that would be a little more stable. So I went mercenary with a few buddies who happened to hear about some researchers that were looking for highly trained professionals willing to do guard duty for some secret private labs in the Chornobyl Exclusion Zone. The pay was amazing, the living quarters we had were better than the military, and the food was damn good. Perfectly reasonable and all we had to do was stand around, check IDs, and make sure shit was locked down. But then the C-Con bullshit happened and a quarter of the security force got zapped to kingdom come, and half of what remained got mind-jacked by the C-Con and the other half… Well, we ran with some of the eggheads and started Clear Sky. We’re not strictly a research team, we’re more akin to a paramilitary group. All of us are capable of fighting, even the Einsteins among us.”

Diver slowed, a hand lifted to signal the boy to come to a stop. Izuku took a half step, barely managing to turn yet another stumble into a crouch. Calmly, Diver opened a pouch on his plate carrier and took out a monocular, popping the lens covers off before lifting it up to his right eye. Distantly, a roar from an unknown creature, followed by the bloodcurdling scream of a man could be heard, the source likely kilometers away yet Izuku nervously fingered the pistol at his side. Double checking that the gun was primed to fire as Diver had shown him, the boy gulped, the fear and nerves a ball of discomfort in his throat. Izuku looked beyond Diver, catching a glimpse of marshes, a shack, a factory of some sort to the left of the marsh on elevated ground, and further ahead was a large compound. Guard posts with spotlights that remained off, the muffled rumble of a generator, the distant glow of a campfire, the faint plucking of a guitar, and the scent of meat roasting from within indicated a decent amount of activity with the compound.

“We’re in luck.” Diver whispered, startling the nervous boy behind him. “What is it Mr. Diver?”

“Good news: guard posts are fast asleep.” Diver explained as he tucked his monocular back into its pouch. “Bad news: the next shift is already awake and making breakfast before they walk over to the guard posts in less than 10 mins.” Diver checked the straps on his rig before motioning to Izuku to follow him out of the woods and down alongside the edge of the marsh.

“Come on, we gotta book it and be as quiet as possible while we skirt around the Research Institute. Not a single peep. Follow my steps here, this old lake is radioactive.” The man breathed as he carefully and swiftly directed Izuku alongside the marsh that seemed to buzz, pop, and hiss with an almost suspiciously venomous hue. Izuku’s eyes wandered briefly across the marsh, peeking into a dilapidated trailer just long enough to catch a glimpse of a skeleton dressed in the rags of a military uniform, its hands handcuffed and slumped against the wall of the trailer, a bullet hole in the skull, the wall darkly discolored, a casing tarnished and green beside a ragged boot, and a discarded rusty black pistol with its slide held open lay in the doorway, a bright red star visible on the grip of the gun. Izuku paled as he could easily guess what happened to the person left to rot in a marsh, a picture painted in his mind as he quickly ducked his head to keep an eye on where Diver was stepping. 

As the pair neared the other end of the marsh where they ascended a hill, Diver jogged off to the right ducking behind a thicket, sliding down the slick hill before gesturing to the teen to follow him. With all the grace of a drunken seal, Izuku slid down ass first, moisture and mud soaking his rear and back, clothing even more thoroughly ruined than they were previously. Izuku winced and he clumsily stood while Diver continued to move through the bushes. The two moved as carefully and quickly as possible among the dense growth, the sounds of activity increasing in frequency and volume with their proximity to the Research Institute. No more than 20 meters from the fencing of the compound, the pair were crouch walking with the speed of mercury, doing their best to avoid any sound. The tension was palpable, the nerves high, breaths shallow and controlled, and by the highest of powers the smell of the cooking meat was so tantalizing that Izuku’s stomach was reminded of just how empty it has been. Just as they were passing the corner on the other end of the compound, Izuku’s stomach growled with the ferocity of a lion. 

Diver froze. Izuku died inside. The nocturnal ambience silenced. The fire inside the compound crackled. The chatter of the groggy soldiers seemed muted. From the guard post, at the corner they were passing, mere meters away from safety, a soldier snored with the magnitude of an apneic. And suddenly, a wave of laughter from the soldiers inside the compound brought life back to the Agroprom night.

Izuku let out a quiet sigh, and Diver rubbed moisture from his brow before gesturing Izuku to follow him past the cropping of rock and earth behind the Research Institute that marked the base of a hill which rose higher than the most elevated sections of the Agroprom Research Institute.

Five minutes of harried duck walking later and the two had made it to the other side of the large hill. Here, the trees were sparse, the moonlight bright and unobstructed, a dirt path winded around the other end of the hill leading up to an opening in a rusted chain fence. They were well out of earshot and safe from being spotted during the guard change. In this moment of relative safety, Diver and Izuku collapsed beside a dead and blackened tree trunk.

“Take a five minute rest Kid. We got a hell of a run ahead of us, and I’m gonna need you to really push your limits for the swamps ahead.” Diver groaned as he stuck an arm into the top of the seemingly hollow tree trunk and pulled out a can and some blister packs. “Got a stash here in this old trunk, just some stuff for this kind of situation and an extra oxygen tank.” Diver popped open the can with a hiss, handing both the can and a blister pack to Izuku. “Here, take those and wash it down with half of the can.”

Izuku eyed the can and blister pack Diver was offering with apprehension. “What’s that?” “Indraline, a radioprotectant, and Non Stop energy drink, just to give you a little bit of a kick. The swamp has spots of radiation and I’d rather you be prepared for it just in case.”

With that said, Izuku plucked the Indraline from the blister pack and tossed it into his mouth, his face scrunching as his tongue registered the acrid taste of the tablets. With little delay, the boy took the can and chugged half of the drink with fervor, glad to wash away the awful taste of the tablets with the refreshing watermelon-mint flavor of the drink. Diver, having taken his own tablets, grabbed the can from Izuku and emptied the remaining fluid in his mouth. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the older man tossed the empty can into the tree trunk and stood up.

“You ready Kid?” Diver asked as he patted and tugged at the pouches on his rig, checking to ensure that they were secured in place. The boy nodded, briefly appreciating how the energy drink filled his stomach for the moment.

”Alright.” Diver reached for a slim object tucked into the MOLLE of his rig. Slipping it out, the man cracked the chemlight before shaking it vigorously, illuminating the early morning darkness with a moderate blue hue. Satisfied with the light, Diver tucked it into a chemlight shield attached to the back of his right shoulder strap. Looking at Izuku with a serious expression, Diver pointed to the chemlight on his shoulder. 

“Where we’re going now will have some crazy tall grass, deceptively shallow water, winding pathways, and some of the worst beasts in the Zone. You think it’s dark here? Wait until you’re in the Great Swamps. You won’t be able to see me ahead of you, but you will be able to see this light. Keep an eye on this light. And run like you’ve never run before, because your life depends on it.”

Izuku stood up, his mind determined to listen to the veteran stalker, his body trembling in adrenal terror and exhaustion; however, his gut, his instincts, something deep within was screaming in anticipation, in a desire to challenge his limits, dominate in a race of survival, and reach safety stronger than before. His injured arm shook ever so slightly, whether from the drugs, injury, or situation at hand was unknown, but the boy was as ready as he could be.

”There’s a reason I don’t take this route, why I dive and swim through the pipes of the hydroelectric power plant in the west. Some big beastie took up residence around the railroad ahead.” Diver rubbed the back of his neck nervously.  “None of our boys have lived to see it and tell the tale, and we don’t have the manpower to spare right now to set up a hunting party. It’s the reason why I’m the only point of contact between our boys and the eggheads in Yantar. Guess we’re gonna find out what’s been keeping us in the swamps once we pass that fence. Come on.”

And so the marathon began.  

Running up the slope past the chain link fence, Izuku was struck with the strangest mixture of sensations as he had his first glimpse of the Great Swamps. Bleak dread, peace, grief, and excitement. A railroad lay ahead, a pair of abandoned rusty rail cars, derailed, sat in the way of any clear view, but beyond them, in the light of the moon, Izuku saw enough to know that these swamps held life and death among the reeds and water. But as the boy followed Diver around the rail cars, all those sensations were consumed by a sole emotion when the sound of deep growling came from the marsh below. Four sets of sickly yellow-green eyes peered back from the thick grasses beside a set of water pipes. Four eyes attached to two conjoined grotesque cat-like human heads with so many jagged teeth, connected to a thickly muscled predatory body. The size of the creature challenged even the largest of lions, with claws like a prehistoric monster. Never has such a word been better suited than for the abomination in front of the pair, frozen mid stride atop the sloped terrain as they caught sight of the terror sizing them up. And that was what Izuku felt. Sheer, absolute, bone chilling terror. 

(Image credit to Klean’s Dayz Stalker Survival mod development team)

“Chimera…” Diver uttered with trepidation.

With a roar, the nightmare pounced at the duo, seemingly flying through the air with an unnatural grace and force. It was purely experience that allowed Diver to throw himself to the side to avoid the beast. It was purely luck and fear that allowed Izuku to stumble forward and fall face first, rolling down the slope ass over heels as the creature flew right overhead and crashed into the rail cars with a snarl. Izuku shakily pulled himself to his feet with a speed he didn’t think was possible in his injured and exhausted state. His eyes refused to leave the beast above him, only tearing away when Diver grabbed Izuku by the shoulder.

“FUCKING RUN KID!”

And like that, the haze was broken, and Izuku fled with fear in his heart and trust in the older man.

Chapter Text

Lost to the Zone

Chapter 4: Stumbling

7 May 2018, 04:14

The Great Swamps, The Zone

From the moment that the fickle primates humanity had descended from decided to get off their collective asses and get down from the branches of the trees they frequented, humans have run. They ran to avoid danger, and eventually they ran to hunt, to become the danger. Then they ran for war, they ran for sport, they ran to save lives, they ran from their problems. Humans, ever as fickle as their ancestors, evolved to be runners, creatures of endurance and spite. Yet, they inevitably forgot the very reason, the very fear that led them to start running until the sole individuals remember it in the heat of the moment.

The fear of being eaten.

Izuku was consumed by that very fear, faced with Zone’s apex predator as he sprinted after Diver, his lungs burning an acidity of terror, eyes bulged and pupils wide as dinner plates in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the blue light on the older man’s back through the gloom of the swamp. It was only the swirling radiation fog and splashing footfalls of the soldier’s boots that gave the boy a point of reference to follow as the horror of the Zone recovered from its lunge into the train car. 

Izuku pushed himself, the knowledge that he could die here between the ravenous jaws of a monster that should not exist, should never have existed, overriding the awareness that he was likely running blind into pockets of radiation, that he had no idea how he got here in the first place, that he would so blindly trust someone after they bandaged him in a strange place. All that mattered, as he followed the sound of running feet, ragged breaths, and a barely visible blue light through the thick fog, was that he lived to get home to his mother.

Reeds and tall grasses, pools of water and long abandoned rusted piping flew by as the duo ran, zig zagging to avoid the lunging Chimera, flying unnaturally and gracefully through the air, a missile of claws and teeth much too large for a practical use, its sickly yellow-green eyes tracking the two through the fog with an uncanny accuracy not possible by any known fauna on Earth. 

It was the distinct lack of sloshing ahead of him that alerted Izuku to the fact that something had changed, before the boy suddenly found himself climbing out of the fog and on a cracked and desolate road leading into a bridge. The road was elevated enough that the fog was mere wisps over the ground, the fading moonlight allowing the boy to see that Diver was running across the bridge to what looked like a machine yard down the road.

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Grisha Stone was a young man in hard times, at least by his babushka’s definition. Well as young as a 35 year old can feel but that was beside the point. Really, what can you expect from a man who willingly chose to not attend college in favor of falling in with his cousin’s gang, running drugs and pimping foreign girls of dubious ages seemingly sourced from nowhere by the boss man’s connections. Grisha never cared about the morals of it, and why should he? He enjoyed feeling powerful, breaking some rival gang member’s legs, getting high on some designer drugs, and putting the lips of those girls to use, and the quick cash he could make from just making his boss happy… Really, he saw nothing better out of life.

And then came the Zone, and with it the sudden tales of wealth, artifacts, unclaimed lawless territory, and an object capable of granting any wish at the center of the Zone.

Organized crime began branching into the Zone, sending affiliate gangs on their behalf to claim territory and expand the business so to speak. And just his luck that his boys were chosen to set up shop by Coyote, their boss. It was meant to just be some artifact farming in the Garbage but then the boss started expanding the business, pushing out of the Garbage and branching to other areas of the Zone. Just his luck that Grisha found his boys being told to post up in the swamps. What a shithole… the only thing good out here to be found was a steady supply of mutants to hunt and chemical anomaly based artifacts. 

The Renegades had a better chance of striking it rich by taking over Zaton like Sultan did than slumming it in the swamps with the pitiful remnants of Clear Sky. Hell, they were barely worth the spent gunpowder to put down, the occasional skirmish between his boys and the blue pridurki over the pumping station in the middle of the swamp was really the only effort they put into maintaining any control in this damp hellhole, where some clean water was the one resource both groups couldn’t live without. 

Grisha grunted, thinking of the two knuckleheads he sent to the pumping station to scare off the posted CS guards earlier. The sounds of gunfire from the west had broken the night but he hadn’t seen or heard anything from them since. He wasn’t concerned though, those particular idiots were known to get drunk after any task assigned to them as means of “celebrating a successful mission.” Bunch of damned dunderheads, but at least they did what they were told. Grisha was about to call tweedle dee and tweedle dum over the radio to check in when one of the boys at the perimeter of the Machine Yard buzzed through the device.

“Oi, guys, I’m hearing some movement to the north, coming from the railroad.” Grisha raised an eyebrow. The area surrounding the railroad was notably dangerous for the amount of radiation and mutants of various sizes in those marshes; the only thing that could be moving through there might be a pack of dogs hunting some Tushkan or something. Still, better to make sure any hunting dogs don’t get too close, remind them of where their territory lies.

Grisha lifted the radio to his mouth. “Take any shot on any dumb dog that decides to get close to the Yard.” The guy posted at the road barrier should have a Mosin with him so it shouldn’t be hard to scare off any wretched dog.

“You got it boss- Wait… what the fucking shit is- OH FUCK!” The radio buzzed off just as a shot rang out from the northern road blockade followed by a scream.

Grisha jumped to his feet, grabbing his SPAS-12 shotgun, he checked to make sure the gun was ready to fire, peering through the dark yard, the light of the full moon momentarily obscured by clouds overhead, the fire beside him lighting up the area around him for only a few meager meters. The boys in the yard creeping closer to the center of the yard, beat up weapons at the ready for whatever was coming from the north.

They were wholly unprepared for two jackasses to come sprinting out of the darkness from the northwest, running straight through the camp like bats out of hell. “Sorry!” was all Grisha heard from the shortest of the two runners before they disappeared back in the night. They didn’t even get a chance to even bring their guns up to bear on the two people running; who would ever expect some dipshits to run straight through a camp of armed gangsters?

Grisha was about to order the boys on the south barricade to find the assholes when screams came from the northern section of the Machine Yard. With a curse, Grisha turned around to find a blur of muscle and patchy fur jumping onto a gangster garbed in a black leather trench coat, the victim’s shrieking turned to gurgling as the beast tore out the man’s throat with one mouth, the other head’s maw digging into his shoulder, breaking bone and pinning the body in place.

“SHIT, CHIMERA!” With a growl, the Chimera let go of the cooling corpse, gore framing its ghastly maws as it faced the gangsters, getting low to the ground as it prepared to pounce for a fight. Grisha aimed his gun from the hip and began firing wildly, signalling to the rest of his crew to start fighting. 

As the beast jumped onto another man, this one in a brown leather jacket, his face hidden by a black balaclava but eyes clearly filled with fear as he dropped his pistol, a dinky little Makarov, Grisha only had one thought. 

‘I’m gonna fucking make sure those assholes pay for fucking kiting a Chimera to us. I’ll get their fucking asses, even if its the last thing I do!’

Diver led Izuku further into the swamp, only slowing to a power walk as they walked over a small wooden bridge leading onto a paved road. To the west, Izuku could make out flickers of fire surrounding the burnt remnants of houses, and to the south in the direction they were walking he could see what seemed like arcing electricity above the high grass. 

“Holy shit I can’t believe that worked.” Diver huffed, brushing his hair away from his brow. “You doing alright Kid?” the man asked, glancing at the boy briefly as he surveyed their surroundings.

Izuku’s lungs felt like they were trying to self immolate, his breathing was ragged, and his legs were begging for death. “Hah, I’m… still… alive… air…” he gasped.

Diver chuckled, “That's right! All you could really ask for in the Zone. We’ll make a stalker out of you yet! Keep steady though, we’re not in Clear Sky territory yet, we have another 100 meters before we can take a break.”

The two continued to walk down the winding road, Izuku working up not the courage but the breath to ask the man about what they saw earlier. As Diver led Izuku around an unusually consistent swirling whirlwind of leaves and dust in the middle of the road, Izuku found the opportunity. “Mr. Diver, who were those people? We just led that monster to them, w-will they be ok?”

Diver snorted. “Don’t weep for the evil, you’ll be crying all day. If anything they’re the real monsters. I’d personally celebrate that there are less Renegades in the swamp now. They’ve been slowly taking over the southern areas of the Zone, and practically own the entire swamp now. They shoot at our guys for fun and blockaded every safe path out of the swamp. That’s why I’m the only one that can venture out of the Swamp through the waterways and pipes.”

“But what makes them so bad?” Izuku asked, jumping in fright when a pack of dogs howled distantly.

Diver hummed, “Guess you wouldn’t really know but when the Zone was created, organized crime lords and small gangs in the Mainland saw the Zone as a new uncontested opportunity. They poured in and started claiming areas of the Zone as theirs for their operations. This is how we got a shit ton of bandits. But the Renegades? They’re not your regular bandit mafia. They don’t care about negotiating, they kill for fun, they’re the ones responsible for the flood and distribution of drugs in the Zone, and I think they have something else going on. I don’t know what it is, but they’ve started expanding further north and suddenly seem to have a shit ton of resources. I don’t like it and I fear they might decide to try and wipe out us and the other factions in the southern regions of the Zone.” Diver adjusted his pack, visibly relaxing as a decrepit old church came into view, its spire looming above the tall grass surrounding the road.

“But, can’t you just fight them? Take back the swamp? Your faction should be able to just push out the gangs here, right?” Izuku asked, adjusting his sling, wincing as the knife handle brushed against his chest.

“In 2011 we managed it back when we had shit weapons, 100 members, a gun for hire, and they were only just pushing into the Swamp. Now? Not even a chance in hell. When we set off to try and retake the CNPP, we had 230 members, a shit ton of quality weapons and ammo, and the assurance that we were suddenly the biggest organized group in the Zone. Now we are squatting outside the ruins of our old base, 40 people huddling up between the Fishing Hamlet and sharing the Church with Father, bless his hospitality, and forced to use these crappy pistols and shotguns because we just don’t have enough ammo for the AKs and NATO guns we still have stockpiled under the old base. The Renegades in the swamp might not be well equipped, but they have a lot of men, and they could easily call for better equipped reinforcements from the Garbage. Kid, we’d have to somehow get the aid of the Rookies in the Cordon, and maybe even some mercs. But the guys in the Cordon are happy just sticking in their rookie village, and we don’t have the kind of money it takes to even hire a single Merc. So honestly, it’d take a miracle or an act of God.”

Diver slung his shotgun over his shoulder as the church and a graveyard came into view. “Speaking of, welcome to the Church of the Great Swamp, sinners and nonbelievers welcome hehe.” Diver chuckled. “You can relax now, the path from the Church to the Fishing Hamlet is friendly ground, and the church itself is being taken care of by Father, a priest who made it his duty to protect the icons and relics left here in the church, and we got some guys who stay posted here.”

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Indeed, looking up at the church, Izuku noted that there was a man with a bolt action rifle looking out from the bell tower, two others posted outside the gates to the graveyard and churchyard armed with pistols and shotguns. The church itself was alive with the faint glow of a campfire from inside, whispered conversations drifting out of cracked windows. 

“Come on kid, we’re not stopping here. I’ll introduce you to Father and the rest of the Old Church camp later,” Diver waved to the guard standing at the gate leading into the graveyard as he passed, the guard nodding in acknowledgement, “we have to take you to see a medic first and then talk to Cold.”

7 May, 2018 05:15

Fishing Hamlet (Clear Sky Camp), The Zone

Izuku was sitting on a bed in a decaying building, alongside multiple other occupied beds, a series of wires and sensors connected to a laptop were taped to various parts of his body, a metal container secured to his chest as a medic by the name of Shov worked to carefully extract the knife in his arm. Beside the medic a scientist named Sereda was typing furiously into a tablet as he glanced frantically between Izuku and the laptop screen. Izuku was grateful that they had taken the time to numb his arm, because he was very sure he’d be screaming in pain now that the drugs and adrenaline had worn off, and he really didn’t want to wake up any of the other members of Clear Sky. He was equally grateful for the fresh set of clothes they had given him to put on once the knife was extracted, a pair of dark blue cargo pants, a black turtleneck, a blue anorak, and a pair black heavy boots with wool socks, all of which laid beside him on the bed neatly folded and waiting to be worn.

“Alright, hold still Kid, I just finished cleaning the area and have some packing ready, I’m going to pull it out nice and slow before packing the wound. After that, I’ll just staple it shut and let the artifacts take care of the rest.”

Izuku was confused, did they mean the metal container on his chest? “Artifact? What do you mean?”

“Mmm,” Shov hummed as he set the stapler on a shoddy table beside the bed, “Diver did mention you were new to the ways of the Zone.”

“Ah yes,” it was Sereda this time who piped up, “artifacts, the gold of the Zone. Truly such marvels and bastards of reality. They are items that have been twisted and influenced by the Zone to behave and possess properties that defy the laws of physics. They are such fascinating trinkets that have allowed our understanding of science to leap entire decades in the areas of theory.” The scientist hugged the tablet to his chest, his head held high in exasperation, “ Alas! We still lack the ability to produce more concrete results with current technology and materials, as well as the unfortunate lack of artifacts, but with time I’m quite sure we will be able to mass produce artifact based technologies, or xenotech as we like to call it in the scientific communities.” 

The medic snorted, "Don't mind the professor over here, he just gets a hard on when it comes to the Space-Time bullshit that the Zone seems to mess with, and how we could one day harness reality for ourselves with xenotech. Anyway," Shov carefully took hold of the knife handle with his right hand, his left grasping the boy's wrist to keep the arm steady during extraction. "We gave you a Heart artifact and a Bubble artifact, the Heart will boost the rate of healing and the Bubble will absorb any radiation. You should be all good in two days if you keep both on you."

Izuku looked down at the container with a new sense of wonder, 'Woah! This is amazing! Imagine how many people could be saved with just this little box alone!'

"Alright, I'm gonna pull it out now, you ready?" Shov asked Izuku gently. Distantly, Izuku could hear a soft chuckle and shifting fabric from one of the beds. "That's what she said." A man rasped from the darkness with a sleepy bark of laughter. Shov rolled his eyes and threw a nearby pen in the direction of the voice before turning to look back at the boy. Izuku gave a small smile and nodded, wincing as he could still feel past the numbness the sensation of skeleton knife sliding against flesh and bone, portions of sinew momentarily catching within the skeletal and hooked portions of the blade.

Izuku had no doubt that he would never forget the almost sickening feeling of metal moving through muscle, the sight of his own dark blood pooling from the wound as the blade made its way out of the arm. It was with a choked gasp that Izuku witnessed the blade finally leave his body, Shov unceremoniously dropping the knife onto a metal plate before quickly packing the wound to stem the blood flow, undoing Izuku's makeshift tourniquet as he did so.

Quiet measured footsteps made their way into the building, the soft thunk of heavy boots on rotting wood floor came from the doorway as they made their way across the hall. In the dim lighting, Izuku could make out a man with short hair, a goatee, and sharp features wearing a blue and white camo uniform, an armored vest and shoulder pauldrons, and in his hands was a bowl of soup. 

Approaching Izuku, the man spoke, a slight smile on his face. “I might be leading our men now, but once a bartender, always a bartender. Made you some goulash. Something hearty to help keep your energy up with how much that artifact is going to mess with your metabolism. Nice to meet you Kid, I’m Cold, former Clear Sky bartender, and its current reluctant leader.” Cold greeted Izuku, placing the bowl of goulash beside the laptop.

“Wish I could say I’d like to meet under better circumstances but this is hardly unusual for the average stalker. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened and then we can tell you our own theory.” Cold said, glancing at Sereda who gave a few quick enthusiastic nods.

As Shov began to staple the wound closed, Izuku began to retell the events that led him to be found by Diver, clarity slowly dawning as he recounted the last 14 hours of his time in the Zone. Every so often the men would jump in, naming places he’d been. By the time Shov had finished with the staples, Izuku had finished telling them how Diver had saved him, and his stomach was roaring with the ferocity of the Chimera that chased them earlier. 

The men chortled as Izuku flushed with embarrassment, the presence of the cooling goulash all the more noticeable to his senses. Reaching over with his left hand, Izuku took a spoonful of the hearty stew and eagerly brought it to his mouth. And with barely a second thought Izuku dug into the bowl with gusto; quite frankly, Izuku was enamored with the meal. He had never had something so uniquely simple and delicious. The spiced broth and meats, the wonderfully flavorful vegetables, and the noodles that provided a great contrasting texture. Izuku had grown up only ever eating Japanese cuisine and the occasional western meal endorsed by All Might’s agency as limited time items, so the sudden introduction to an all new kind of cuisine with so much flavor was simply a mind blowing experience exacerbated by his extremely empty stomach and tired state. 

As Izuku finished his meal, Cold turned to Sereda, the scientist subtly waving the faction leader over. Walking over, Cold saw that Sereda was barely concealing an equal mix of concern and excitement.

“What is it, professor?” Cold asked in a low voice. Sereda puttered closer to the leader, presenting his tablet to the man. Glancing at the tablet, Cold saw paragraphs upon paragraphs of scrolling technical data. “Sereda, I’m only seeing a whole bunch of nothing I can understand. Speak plainly to me.” Cold whispered exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sereda nodded. “Well then, I suppose I should start with the point of the matter. Our young guest is not of our universal constant. It seems he is a victim of universal spacial slippage.”

Cold stared at the scientist, then at the laptop screen, then at the boy. “Fuck. Not again with this shit.” Cold cursed, a hand running through his hair. Sereda pressed on, “Yes, it would appear that it is our turn as a faction to deal with the third and newest case of universal spacial slippage in the Zone.”

“Is something wrong?” Izuku asked, placing the now empty bowl beside the laptop. Shov side-eyed the two men, prompting Sereda to clear his throat, his nasally voice dry with the serious matter they were about to discuss. “I believe we should start by explaining that you are very far from home. As in, you are no longer in your own universe. Ah, actually I suppose it would be easier to say that multiverse theory is very real, and due to the anomalous nature of the Zone, you had slipped through a Noospheric anomaly closely aligned to the Psi-Signature of the Zone which in turn allowed you to simply slip between universal boundaries into our own and placing you in an area of the Zone most active in Psi-Activity, which in turn would explain the progression of-”

“Basically you’re in a different universe now, you got pulled into the Zone, we have no clue how to get you home, and this isn’t the first time it's happened.” Cold cut in, visibly annoyed with the scientist.

“What.” Izuku felt his jaw drop. “What do you mean I can’t get home!?”

“Well, it's not that we don’t know how to get a subject of universal slippage home, more of a case that no one has really had a chance to try and find out how. We’ve had two previous slippage cases, in 2008 we had a Russian man who claimed to use a machine to try and travel to 1984 pop up at Yantar, and in 2011 an American man wearing some fascinating powered orange armor appeared at Rostok claiming to be from 2028. Unfortunately, the Russian man disappeared not long after he appeared, and the American died in the Sparkle Deadlock anomaly in the Wild Territory while on his way to Yantar to talk to the professors there.” Sereda took a gulp of air.

 “What’s more, the brief study done by our colleagues at Yantar on the first man discovered the connection of Psi-Signatures and Noospheric influence to how universal slippage is possible in the first place. In fact, it was with the appearance of the American, and some testing performed by Duty’s scientific experts, that we were able to learn that upon entering our universe, the subject experiences a very useful and peculiar noospheric influence that allows them to understand any language they hear, and then speak it with fascinating fluency without any conscious effort or notice. But our own scans seem to indicate that you appear to also experience a particular sensitivity to psi-radiation, whether it's harmful or may affect you in other ways, I can not yet say without further testing and proper equipment, but I-.”

“Holy fuck, Sereda, you talk too much! The kid is fucking spiraling and I got back from the night patrol, I’m trying to fucking sleep you old windbag.” A man snarled from the bed to the right of the group of men. And indeed, Izuku was spiraling, muttering in disbelief as he worked out his situation, the evident difference in time progression between universes, the possible effect of psi and noosphere across universes, and the intricacies of multiversal constants and anchor universals, the constituents of which can branch into further universes. The disgruntled man spoke again, seeking to shut everyone up and get some sleep. “Cold, just do your thing so we can all welcome the Kid to the brotherhood and get some shut-eye.”

Cold nodded, straightening his posture as he stepped forward to Izuku’s bed, opened a pouch on his rig and pulled something out. Maintaining eye contact, Cold took Izuku’s left hand and pressed an object of rough and rigid cloth into the boy’s palm.

“With this, you’re one of us now.” Cold stated, jaw set as Izuku looked from the Clear Sky patch in his hand to the faction’s leader in front of him. “The Zone is no place for a child to be on his own. So you’ll join us as a brother, we’ll shape you into a man strong enough to brave the wilds of this place. And in return, you can help us fix our mess. You could help us save the world. So… will you help us bring a stop to this, soldier?” Cold asked, a hand on Izuku’s shoulder.

Izuku looked down at the patch in his hand. The sun rising over the earth, the clouds clearing, the birds soaring into the azur heavens, and the banner triumphantly stating what it all was. Clear Sky. A name to inspire hope and peace through victory. The name of the people that were inspiring hope in him at this very moment. Men that willingly aided him in a horrifying place where so few can be trusted; they helped him even when they were struggling themselves. They could have left him to his own fate, to struggle for his own life with nothing but a pistol, two magazines, and a knife still stuck in his arm. Yet, they fed him, healed him, clothed him, and are now offering him a place among them. More than that, they were offering him the chance to live his dream at its core, a chance to help others just as they did, to save countless lives, and right the wrongs committed by their predecessors. A chance to act as a hero, and trained to be a soldier in practicality.

Izuku gripped the patch tightly, and looked Cold in the eyes, his expression steel, and resolve set, the light of the breaking dawn leaking in through the windows. “Yes, sir!”

29 June 2156, 03:04

Mustafa, Japan

Izuku snapped back to reality, his breath catching as he was suddenly aware of his surroundings again, the harsh scent of dispensed solvent grounding the young man from his impromptu flashback. A thunk from an object falling onto the desk brought Izuku’s attention down to the task he’d been previously occupied with. On the desk lay Izuku’s USP Compact, completely cleaned and fully assembled, the extracted magazine gleaming from being cleaned and lubricated. Beside the handgun sat six rounds of .45 Cal hollow point, neatly arranged in a row, just waiting to be placed back into the magazine that they had been previously removed from.

Somehow in his fugue state, Izuku had managed to clean and disassemble both the handgun and its magazine. Izuku frowned, ‘Crap, I let myself get lost in my head. Gotta be normal, Izuku! You’re back in Japan, with your mom! The Zone is in the past, there is no reason it can ever come back for you. You’re gonna be a normal guy in normal Japan with a normal fucking life. Get a grip.’

Izuku reached into his bag and took a handful of loose .45 Cal ACP rounds from a pocket and began loading them into the magazine, dropping the hollow points into the same pocket. He replaced the magazine into the handgun, pulled the slide back to load the chamber and set the gun on safe before turning off the desk lamp. Walking back to his bed, Izuku opened his nightstand and set the gun inside. Adjusting his neck gaiter, Izuku crawled back under the covers, once again noting with distaste how soft the bed was. 

‘I’m gonna need a new bed…’ Izuku closed his eyes and, bringing the neck gaiter over his nose, the man took a deep breath through the fabric for one final scent of the Zone, the familiarity enough to lull him to sleep until dawn.

You can support me by buying me a Ko-fi

Chapter Text

Lost to the Zone

Chapter 5: It's Easy

29 June 2156, 10:25

Mustafa, Japan

Last night, for the first time in two years, Midoriya Inko had slept like a baby. Twelve hours of uninterrupted rest, after years of tirelessly looking for her son she was finally able to rest. Inko wearily opened her eyes, puffy and swollen from crying herself to sleep the previous night, cheeks crusted from the tears of joy she shed.

Turning her head, Inko’s sleepy gaze fell on a picture frame placed on her nightstand. Illuminated by the light bleeding through the shades of her bedroom window, a smiling family peers back. Her family, her beloved husband and bright son. The photo had been taken when Izuku was three years old, when her husband had just received a promotion and the apartment was so full of warmth and life. Her husband, who so loved playing with Izuku, taught the boy so much about the heroes he worked with as a Heroic Affairs Investigator for the World Heroes Organization under the jurisdiction of the United Nations. Izuku had picked up Hisashi’s analytical abilities and sharp mind, be it by their little games or genetics, Inko had no clue. But one thing was for certain, and it was that Izuku was a frightening reflection of Hisashi in his youth, down to the way he had grown up to be just as imposing and wild haired as his father. 

A pang of awe extended through her body at the thought. Her little boy had grown so much! All this time that she had been looking for her baby, two harrowing years, he came back to her a grown man. Dressed strangely, walking strangely, acting strangely, talking strangely; Izuku had experienced something life changing, but she knew in her heart he hadn’t changed. She would broach the subject of what happened to him slowly, but one thing she had learned in two years of searching for Izuku and finding so many other missing children was this, he will need time to work through things, time to return to a sense of normality. Izuku was strong, always was, and so very much like his father, Inko had faith that he-.

Her internal thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of activity coming from the apartment’s kitchen, hissing pans and the telltale noise of plates being placed on the counter. Inko sat up and swung her legs out from under the covers, hauling herself out of her bed, grabbing the robe that hung from the corner bedpost as she made her way to the bedroom door. 

Puttering down the hall leading to the kitchen, Inko was struck with the scent of something similar to the smell of cooking pancakes and eggs being cooked. Turning the corner, she saw Izuku, his hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and green cargo pants, curiously, Inko noted, he was still wearing that camouflage neck gaiter. Her son was occupied using the spatula to transfer something that looked like really thick pancakes onto a plate already filled with a small pile of similarly thick pancakes.  Beside the pile were a pair of plates occupied with omelettes and processed meats and a small bowl of sliced fruit. For a moment, a single solitary second, Inko thought she could see her husband superimposed over Izuku. She teared up, fighting the urge to burst into tears. 

“Good morning mom.” Izuku said, turning to greet her as he turned off the stove and set the overhead fan to a low setting.  He frowned, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Are you alright?” He asked, eyes flickering to take note of her wet and swollen eyes and tear crusted cheeks.

Inko sniffed, quickly stepping over to the sink and, turning the tap on, she splashed water on her face, wiping clean the remnants of the previous night’s joyous crying. Taking a kitchen towel, she gently dabbed her face dry, shakily giggling. “Don’t mind me honey, I’m just- I’m so happy you’re home and when I saw you here I was reminded of your father.” Inko sniffed again, smiling at her son.

Izuku gave a small smile in return. “I still miss him.” Izuku muttered as he turned back to the kitchen counter and picked up the plates of food and carried them to the dining table.

“Me too sweetie.” Inko sighed. “What's that you have there?” She asked, referring to the pile of thick pancakes Izuku was walking back into the kitchen for. Plate in hand, the man smirked at his mother. “Syrniki! Cheese pancakes. I haven’t had any in months and saw you had the ingredients to make them, so I took the liberty to throw some together.”

Placing the plate on the table, Izuku motioned for his mother to sit down, pulling a chair out and waiting for her to take a seat. Inko, thinking to herself about how Izuku has managed to remain such a gentleman despite being god knows where for two years, sits down, allowing for Izuku to push her chair in.

Once Izuku is seated, Inko reaches for a set of chopsticks but only finds a fork and knife. She is thrown off for a moment but when she considers the meal for what it is, it only makes sense that Izuku would put out the silverware rather than the chopsticks. Steadying herself, Inko clasps her hands together. “Itadakimasu.”

Looking up as she picks up her fork, she is surprised to find Izuku was already halfway through eating his plate of eggs. The way he was ravenously eating his food, it was like he hadn’t eaten in days!

Inko giggled, “You look like you were starving sweetie.” Izuku stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, a slice of processed meat hanging from the utensil. Swallowing, Izuku put the fork down and reached for the stack of syrniki. Taking four from the plate, Izuku hummed. 

“I guess so?” Izuku used a spoon to scoop some fruit out of the bowl he’d prepared. “I think the last time I ate something other than an energy bar was… um, about three days ago? But those were just some slabs of boar meat I hunted. My last real meal was probably at the Beard’s Bar two months ago.”

Inko reached across the table, reaching for Izuku’s hand, her face worried when the man flinched upon physical contact. Turning Izuku’s hand over, Inko took note of how calloused and scarred it was, pocked and raised from burns and tears. Eyes watery, the woman looked Izuku in the eye, her fingers lightly tracing over the numerous scars on her son’s hand. 

“We-” Inko swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “Were you safe?” Inko felt silly asking her son, her baby boy, who had been missing for two long years, if he was safe in some strange place after coming back looking so different, carrying so many scars and peculiarities. But she had to know, to know that he had people looking after him.

Izuku knew what she really meant, knew what she wanted to know. But he felt himself remembering the Zone, a man with a gentle word always in hand and a conviction to guide a young boy through the horrors of the Zone. A woman, dressed from head to toe in green camouflage, a sharp tongue hidden by a mask, and a past filled with pain and betrayal. A pair of brothers, impoverished and driven to artifact hunting to care for an ill mother back home, so loyal and earnest, quick to always lend a helping hand. He could remember how it had been...

Izuku slid behind a ruined brick wall, an ankle catching painfully on a divot in front of the wall, but the young man paid the pain little mind. He wasn’t going to complain, not when bullets were whizzing past the impromptu cover, several rounds of 9x18mm, 20/70 7.5mm buckshot, and 7.62x39mm slammed into the wall, pulverizing sections of the decaying bricks. 

“Keep firing guys! We got this bitch pinned!” A voice shouted above the blasts and burps of gunfire. Izuku, breathing heavily, lifted his gun and swung it around the corner to fire back blindly, but his submachine gun only let loose two rounds before clicking empty. Cursing, Izuku pulled the gun back and began to check over his Thompson. A quick examination of the stick magazine revealed the gun to be empty, spent of the .45 ACP Izuku had been so careful of sparing. Izuku tossed the gun aside, the heavy Lend Lease Act weapon clattered heftily as it hit the ground. He was out of ammo. 

A strange light calm came over Izuku. He pulled out a loose cigarette from a breast pocket in his dark blue anorak, and let it rest between his lips, using a beaten up lighter to light the dart. With a puff of smoke, Izuku felt the nicotine buzz take over.

“Cheeki breeki, iv damke!” the cry cutting through the gunfire as the sound of heavy boots on gravel approached from the other side of the wall.

Suddenly a series of explosions went off, the assaulters screaming in pain and surprise as shockwaves, shrapnel, and rapid bursts of gunfire tore them apart.

“KID!” A shout broke through the haze of combat, rousing Izuku as he recognized Diver approaching him, flanked by someone in green flecktarn, and two young men in leather jackets, providing covering fire as the older man made his way to the boy. Pulling up beside Izuku, Diver began to check over the younger man, ensuring he was uninjured. 

“Come on Kid, we still have to fight our way out of here.” Diver said. Izuku realized then, as the man handed Izuku a smoke grenade, that he was out of ammo. But he wasn’t out of options.

Pulling the tabs from the Soviet era smoke grenade, thick grey smoke spilled from the tube. Allowing a few seconds for the grenade to cook up some more smoke, Izuku tossed it over the wall. Steeling himself, Izuku pulled his knife from its sheath and ran out of cover toward the nearest gangster, obsidian steel flashing as he was given covering fire by his allies.

“That place was never truly safe, but I had people I could rely on.” Izuku said softly, digging into his syrniki with less fervor than he would have previously.

Mustafa, Japan

UA University

Nezu was inherently an early riser. When one was a quirked escaped lab experiment hellbent on the nurturing of future civil servants to pave the way for a more exciting means of total world domination, naturally he would want to make use of as much daylight to get things done. So when he arose from his den, dressed, refreshed, earl grey tea in hand, and logged into his email to begin pestering Japan’s cabinet with well veiled blackmail and demands, he was only mildly interested to see that he had received an email from Detective Tsukauchi, the subject line simply titled “New Case” that didn’t seem to be all too urgent to address. In all likelihood, the detective was just looking into poking the highly intelligent chimera’s brain for any thoughts on a new case. 

As such, Nezu hadn’t bothered looking into the email until noon, just after cajoling the Prime Minister into seeking a research grant for materials research and a mining survey in Eastern Europe. Believing the case files would make for good light reading as he ate his lunch, Nezu opened the email, humming lightly as he took a bite of his onigiri. And for the next thirty minutes the rest of his lunch went uneaten, the creature far too engrossed in the report and attached documents the detective had sent him.

In truth Nezu was compartmentalizing the fact that his world view was being shattered by three mere journal entries written by a man who vanished mysteriously two years ago. Journal entries, filled with scattered yet highly advanced theories and accounts of universal and temporal travel by paranormal means not incited by any quirk, but by a whole metaphysical superconciousness with the mentality of a toddler. A whole universe filled with unbelievable and awesome phenomena that terrified Nezu on a primal level just as much as it fascinated him. A world set 150 years in the past, yet they were already hundreds of years more advanced in technology, materials, and scientific understanding compared to the world Nezu was born into. And all of that knowledge, all that potential good, resided in the mind of a marginalized young man so brilliant, so honorable, so kind… Nezu had to have him. He had to sink his claws into the man before the corrupting forces of the HPSC saw fit to make him vanish into the black books. 

Izuku Midoriya had just stepped back into the world, right into a grand game Nezu had been simply toying with, and was now the very piece that could wipe the board. That man held the future in his hands, and Nezu refused to allow him to fade into obscurity. 

Nezu smiled, a chuckle slowly titering its way from his snout. “Oh this is going to be so much fun!” The chimera cackled, tearing a bite away from his onigiri.

29 June 2156, 13:42

Takoba, Shizuoka, Japan

Izuku hadn’t stayed home for very long after finishing his breakfast. He could tell his mother was trying to give him some space, to let Izuku feel like nothing was going to be any different compared to before he had disappeared, something he appreciated greatly. But she wanted to know what happened, wanted to know more, and that curiosity combined with the heavy atmosphere of false normalcy was too much for Izuku to handle right now. 

Normalcy was something he so desperately wanted, but what use does a soldier with three years of trauma and an armory of worn weapons in his pilgrim bag have in a world of superpowers? Jackshit as far as Izuku could tell. Hell, the fact that he had seriously considered how he would even repair his kalash last night was already a sign that he was too stuck on a life of fighting. 

No, he was back home in Japan, he had no need for his rifle or gun parts. He has to just be a normal civilian and live a perfectly normal life, get a job, buy a house in the countryside, and die alone surrounded by a menagerie of animals. A normal quirkless life. To do that, Izuku had to start by getting some money, and maybe find himself a ride to fix up. Which is why Izuku had chosen to take a walk off a short pier… literally as the pier at Takoba Beach had long since collapsed under the weight of the trash littering the coast. Looking up at the mounds of trash looming over him, Izuku whistled in awe, a look of disgust on his face as he kicked a loose hubcap away.

“Holy shit… If I had never seen the Garbage back in the Zone, I'd say this is the biggest dump I’ve ever seen, but it's definitely up there with how this landfill is right in the center of Shizuoka.” Izuku muttered, looking back over his shoulder at the busy roads and bustling shops across the street. “Yeah, this is just disappointing.”

As awful as Izuku found the dump to be, he knew the place had to be overflowing with valuable salvage. Scrap metal, broken appliances, and precious and rare metals, all of it a veritable goldmine. He could make some good money here by just picking through the dump and cleaning the place up. But first, he needed a smoke.

Izuku reached into a pocket in his cargo pants. Then he patted the rest of his pockets. 

“Fuck.” Izuku hissed. He left his smokes in his plate carrier. Izuku looked around trying to find anyone to bum a smoke off of. A convenience store wouldn’t be much use to someone without a yen to his name, seeing as most of the bills he had when he showed up in the Zone ended up being used as tinder. Plus he also hadn’t had the foresight to ask his mother for some cash before he left the house.

His attention was drawn to a group of four men across the street laughing as they entered an alleyway, one of the men smoking a cigarette. Izuku hummed in satisfaction and crossed the street to catch up to the group, the road momentarily void of passing traffic. Looking in from the mouth of the alley, Izuku could see that it was fairly dark, even in the afternoon sun. Laughter and hooting drifted out from deep in the alley, the men seemingly being around a corner within the maze of neighboring buildings.  

Izuku walked into the alleyway, following the raucous noise the group were making, rounding the corner to find the four men passing around some beer bottles and blister packs of pills.

“I’m telling you bro, these babies will pump you up! The gains you’ll get will be so much better than the all natural route or going way into the protein.” Said one man, a guy with extremely muscular arms and legs barely contained by a pair of tiny gym shorts and tank top that couldn’t seem to keep still, to the smoker in the group. 

The smoker, a lean man with short dark hair wearing a baseball jersey and baggy pants, turned the blister pack over in a hand. “Eh, I dunno man. Ya sure this stuff’s better than Trigger? I hear that stuff’ll give you instant results.” Baseball man took a swig of his beer.

A guy who seemed like the result of the unholy matrimony between a hammerhead shark and a bodybuilder named Helga casually dumped an entire bottle of beer into his jaws, some of the beverage spilling onto his ripped up and stretched out shirt. “Nah, Trigger gives you a crazy awesome boost and a high instantly but keeps you from thinking shit through and only is good for like an hour. Plus it also doesn't give you any long term gains, and you’d have to inject it every time you need that boost. Nah, you’d be better off with the A-Rod special haha.” The shark man burped loudly, swiping his armored forearm across his maw. “Pretty sure they don’t even care to check the pros here anymore anyway.”

Baseball dude nodded along. “Yeah I guess so, not like Trigger would help me with my bullseye quirk, I just need to be stronger to pitch faster.” The man pocketed the drugs just as the fourth guy, a man with feline features, long sideburns, and sharpened claws, just as muscle bound as the other two meatheads in the group, exclaimed in surprise as he took notice of Izuku rounding the corner of the alleyway.

The man, who seemed to resemble a mix of a lynx and mountain lion, faced Izuku, and pointing at him exclaimed, “Oi, what are ya doing here shithead?” Izuku held up his hands, noticing how the men all tensed up. “Easy there. Just itching for a smoke but I left mine at home. Saw one of you was smoking and followed you gentlemen in here to see if I can borrow a cigarette off you. That’s all.” Izuku wasn’t looking for a fight, and most certainly didn’t care if they were in some back alley having a drug deal, he just wanted a cigarette and he was going to make it clear.

Baseball guy let the cigarette he had in his mouth fall to the ground. Crushing it with his foot, he eyed the other guys in the group. “Yeah I don’t think so buddy. Something tells me you’d likely blab about us to the first hero you see.” The meatheads of the group all started walking slowly toward Izuku. “And I’m afraid we can’t let that happen.”

That seemed to be the signal, because Hammerhead chose that moment to throw the empty beer bottle he had at Izuku. A beer bottle that Izuku promptly caught with ease. 

“Right so, I suppose that’s a no on the sharing is caring.” Izuku quickly slung the beer bottle back at the man with the hammerhead, the glass slamming into the guy’s nose and visibly stunning him. This retaliation was the starting bell for the rest of the goons, the men immediately rushing toward Izuku with hostile intent. The stalker grabbed the nearest mook, the man with sharpened nails, by the arm and redirected the Sabertooth wannabe’s strike to slice the side of the man wielding a vibrating switchblade. The attack averted, the feline man received a throat punch that knocked him on his ass gasping for air. Facing the now bleeding man, Izuku quirked an eyebrow. 

“Are you using your hands to vibrate that knife? And you’re here dealing performance enhancing drugs? Bro you could make a killing in adult entertainment.” The living vibrator gasped in confusion and pain, not getting the chance to speak before receiving a suckerpunch that took him out of the fight. “Yeah, sleep on it buddy. Think you’re due for a career change.”

The hammerhead goon, no longer seeing stars, let out a battle cry as he charged at Izuku, arms held out in preparation to grab hold of the stalker. Just as the shark man drew close, Izuku ducked under the intended hold and, bracing himself solidly on the ground, bodily slammed a shoulder into the man’s gut, knocking the wind out of him as Izuku wrapped his arms around the man’s legs. Using the grand principles of physics and general disrespect for the specimen of room temperature IQ, Izuku lifted the man and flipped him over his shoulder, letting the hammerhead slam head first into the ground. Before the man could even groan in pain, Izuku delivered a swift and heavy kick to the man’s face, simultaneously knocking both the man and a shark tooth out, and spinning the guy from the force of his kick alone. “Get rotated idiot.” Izuku huffed.

Walking back to the struggling feline goon, Izuku put a boot down on the cat man’s chest. “Stay the fuck down idiot. Don’t even bother trying to get up to rejoin the fight, I’ll just punch the air out of you again.” The man collapsed with a resigned expression, their hands protecting their throat. “Smart move.” Izuku hummed, digging a heavy steel toed boot into the man’s chest. “Now, where is your last friend?”

“Oi jackass! Eat this!” The final man stepped out from behind a dumpster, a handgun in one hand, tilted sideways gangster style. Izuku prepared to duck behind some crates for cover, but as the man was bringing the gun up to bear on Izuku, his arm struck the side of the dumpster in his haste to shoot, causing himself to lose his grip on the gun and drop it. Time seemed to slow down as Izuku watched the gun slowly fall, rotating and tumbling until it finally struck the ground, the muzzle pointed upwards. And it was with the sudden boom of a single gunshot and the flare of muzzle flash that time resumed, and idiot number four received a bullet in the knee from his own gun.

As the goon fell to the ground, screaming and cursing whilst he tenderly grasped the shattered and bleeding remains of his kneecap, Izuku approached in disbelief of the level of stupidity he had witnessed. Bending down, Izuku carefully snatched up the handgun, ejecting the magazine and clearing the chamber before looking over the gun. Groaning, Izuku quickly disassembled the gun, throwing the slide into the dumpster and dropping the rest at his feet. 

“You fucking idiot. You’ve clearly never even used, let alone held a gun before, and the one time you seem to get your hands on a gun, you don’t pay attention to your surroundings, bump into a dumpster, drop your weapon because you decide to to hold it like a wannabe gangster, and, the final nail in the coffin, you are using a SIG P320 ?!” Izuku yelled at the man crying on the ground.

“You absolute buffoon, you moron–that gun is more of a danger to you than you are to anyone else. Pretty sure those things stopped getting produced a hundred years ago because they kept going off when bumped. And you, you imbecile,” Izuku gestured wildly at the whimpering man curled up on the slick ground, “absolutely got taken for a ride by whatever black market arms dealer sold you that thing.” 

Izuku sighed, the itch for a cigarette now stronger than before. “Whatever. I’m going to steal from you guys now. Call this compensation for me having to deal with you four ingrates and getting an ambulance over here. Damn it, I just wanted a cig.” The man only sobbed as blood slowly dripped from his knee, some incomprehensible babble about his baseball career being over warbled between wet choking tears. 

Frisking the man’s pockets, Izuku found a box of matches, a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes, a bunch of loose 9mm rounds, a flip phone with a baseball bat charm, and the man’s wallet containing 5,000 yen, an ID card identifying the man as one Yamaguchi Idachi, and a punch card for a frozen yogurt shop promising a free frozen yogurt with the purchase of ten yogurts. The card had nine punch holes. Izuku pocketed the money, the bullets, and the yogurt card. He wasn’t going to say no to the prospect of a free yogurt in the future. 

“Now then…” Izuku swiped a couple cigarettes from the pack, placing one in his mouth and the rest in his pocket before lighting a match. “Let's see what your friends have.”

Five minutes later and a quick call for an ambulance that definitely didn’t leave Izuku scratching his head trying to remember the phone number (and most certainly did not require him nudging the feline man with a boot to get the right number), Izuku was walking back onto the filthy beach, 24,000 yen richer. Eyeing the nearest garbage dune, Izuku took a drag from his cigarette as he took a step towards the heap. “Alright, let's get started.”

By the time the sun began setting, Izuku had managed to work through most of the garbage pile, separating much of the metal and appliances worth repairing and salvaging into their own stacks, and setting the trash that needs to be properly disposed of in its own pile to be gathered in bags at a later date. It was as Izuku was picking up a nearly intact microwave, the glass long shattered, that he found a handlebar poking out from between a bunch of black garbage bags. Intrigued, he began to dig through the garbage, tossing aside the black trash bags and revealing the treasure beneath.

“Holy shit…” Izuku said breathlessly. “It's a Suzuki Hayabusa.” Kneeling down, Izuku began to inspect the sports motorcycle, chuckling in amazement as he began to realize the absolute gem he had just found. The bike’s matte green paint was terribly scraped on the right side, and the engine appeared to be a total loss, but aside from that, the bike was perfectly capable of being restored. And judging by the engine model and tag on the bike, this was likely a 2099 Suzuki Hayabusa. 

Izuku grinned, his eyes watering slightly as memories of his father came to mind, the man having loved motorcycles as much as Izuku loved heroes as a child. His father always exclaimed excitement at the prospect of one day restoring a bike with his son, and Izuku, being drawn to the idea of an intellectual and physical challenge presented by his dad, was always excited to learn more about his father’s favorite subject just so he could be more like his number one hero, his dad. Whilst his father was obsessed with American cruiser bikes, Izuku had always found himself more drawn to the fast and nimble sports bikes. Looking at the bike, Izuku knew he could fix it, all it needed was a new engine and paint job, and he’d have a new ride. He just needed money and time to make it happen, and he had plenty of that now with regards to the potential salvage he could cash in. 

Fully resolute in what was to be a new project, Izuku picked up a tarp he had found earlier and spread it over the motorcycle. Carefully making his way down from the trash dune, Izuku felt an old scar ache on his right shoulder. Rather than rub at the offending area, Izuku simply grabbed one of the cigarettes he pilfered earlier and lit it as he started his walk home, ignoring the pain and associated memories, his fingers itching at his waist for a flask that was not there.  

Chapter Text

Hi, just wanted to update y'all on whats going on.

Just posted the first chapter of the B-Side to this story, making this story part of a series for Lost to the Zone. Go check it out!

Secondly, I will be working on Chapter 6 again, been crazy busy. Its all outlined and I've got plenty to work with so I just have to actually flesh it out, it all just comes down to finding the time to focus on writing the chapter but trust the process! Want to get it out to you guys before the holidays.

Anyway, that is all for now. Next time you will hear from me will be when the chapter is done and posted. See you all next time!