Vessel

PT 1 ✷ Echo

'Who am I?' Is a question better asked with today added to the end of it.

Today, I am pro-hero Hawks. Soaring above grounded civilians with a signature cocky grin plastered across my face that screamed number two hero. Oh, Hawks! Do you have a girlfriend? They'd call to me. Or a boyfriend! They'd add. I'd smirk and brush them off in his special way, though, I'd wondered how much chaos I could cause for him if I'd said yes.

The only good thing about covering for Hawks was the fleeting thrill of flying. The worst part was he'd only ever request cover for mundane, irritating days of press conferences and seminars. Hawks would smile, shake hands and charm them until the sun set and rose again, while the real Hawks did the real work. His quirk was so fun to use, it was a shame they left the fighting to him, though I got my rare days in the sun, too.

No complaints, no hesitation. If the commission called, I would answer. This was my duty and I'd exceed expectations every time, no exception. And anyways, gatherings of this caliber were always beneficial to my own craft anyways. Each day of being someone else, I'd bring home new personas to slip into, learn from, and perform for the greater good.

So, when the day is done, who am I?

Anyone you want me to be. Anyone I can see. An echo of everything I perceive one to be.

This can easily sound like the definition of a god complex, but baseline, you need an inflated sense of self to fit that definition. As someone whose entire quirk and purpose is to observe others to become them, a sense of self at all doesn't exactly fall high on the priority list, but that's an issue to unpack another time.

For what it's worth, a lack of individualism is exactly what I need to be in the highest ranks of the commission's agents. I was made for no less.

A wink and a sly comment using a voice that wasn't my own as my final goodbye and I was off again, shooting through the sky with the finesse of someone who'd had wings my whole life. This high in the sky, I didn't have to plaster that Keigo-signature smile. I could allow myself a moment of private joy, just for me. Those moments were fleeting, but electric when they happened.

As soon as my heels touched down on my balcony, the door slid open to the dark apartment. I slipped out of Keigo with ease, every trace of my colleague stripped away.

My alone time didn't last long, I needed water to cook my meal. I passed through the threshold into the kitchen, catching a glimpse at myself in the reflection of my fridge handle, I was Manual, the normal hero. Conjuring water into a pot, I then swapped to Endeavor, clothes and all, who I didn't like being for any longer than I needed to, to boil the water before throwing the instant noodles in there. Basic and sustaining, that's all I needed.

I lived like this, stepping into personas that fit the occasion, no matter how mundane. My years in the field left me with quite the arsenal of people, good, bad, or otherwise, at my disposal. There were some I wished I had the privilege of meeting before they zeroed out, like Sir Nighteye, having Foresight at our disposal would be beyond beneficial.

I padded out to my balcony once more, soup in hand, heaving a heavy sigh as I slipped out of my persona and back into myself. I wasn't permitted to cycle through personas outside of my home or designated missions, but I couldn't stay inside on a night like this. If anyone saw any of my high-tier hero personas at my apartment, rumors would spread like wildfire. So, as myself,  I sat on the floor, the balcony as barebones as the interior, and ate my food. Staring out at the hazy, multicolored sunrise, I wondered what flying outside of city lines would be like. How would it feel to see something other than concrete below my feet?