no witnesses

Shouji wiped down the glass in his hands with slow, methodical swipes. The diner was soundless besides the soft breaths of four people and the clink of ice against glass. He set down the clean cup, and it sounded like a gunshot in the silence. The woman twitched in her seat. From the corner of his eye, he could see her hand discreetly reach for her partner's before he brushed it away. She fell still.

He didn't know their names, just like all the times previous when they murdered executed punishment against traitors.

A throat cleared from beside him. He didn't have to look at his boss's face to know of his impatience, but he raised his head despite. Izuku gave him an expectant look with his frigid green eyes, fingers rolling atop the countertop and betraying his annoyance. Lightning briefly danced across his fingers, and his own Lichtenberg scar throbbed in remembrance. The villain respectfully averted his eyes before straightening from his bent position. The woman watched his large frame with paranoid eyes, but her partner didn't spare him a single glance, cocky in his self-assurance.

Shouji turned towards the back of the establishment and disregarded the woman's hitched breath. Without a word, he opened the kitchen door and slipped inside; one of his six hands flipped a switch. Through the bulletproof square glass, he could see as the lights flickered off. The man yelped in shock and the woman whimpered. He turned from the window as he heard a chair screech across the floor; the bright, cloying scent of ozone penetrated the air, even from behind closed doors. Yaoyorozu was already laden with scrubbers, a jug of hydrogen peroxide, and multiple pairs of gloves. They conversed quietly with each other.

And if that unnamed man choked on something other than his drink, if that woman's contents were splattered across the floor— well, who would be witness?