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The hovercraft made a quick, spiral descent onto a wide road on the outskirts of 8. Almost immediately, the door opened, the stairs slid into place, and they were spat out onto the asphalt. The moment the last person disembarked, the equipment retracted. Then the craft lifted off and vanished. (M/N) was left with a bodyguard made up of Shoto, Mashirao and two other soldiers. The TV crew consisted of a pair of burly Capitol cameramen with heavy mobile cameras encasing their bodies like insect shells, a blonde woman director named Ryuko, and her assistant, Izuku, a slim young man with dark green hair.
Mashirao hustled them off the road towards a row of warehouses as a second hovercraft came in for a landing. This one brought crates of medical supplies and a crew of six medics - (M/N) could tell by their distinctive white outfits. They all followed Mashirao down an alley that ran between two dull grey warehouses. Only the occasional access ladder to the roof interrupted the scarred metal walls. When they emerged onto the street, it was like they had entered another world.
The wounded from this morning's bombing were being brought in. On home-made stretchers, in wheelbarrows, on carts, slung across shoulders and clenched tight in arms. Bleeding, limbless, unconscious. Propelled by desperate people to a warehouse with a sloppily painted H above the doorway. It was a scene from (M/N)'s old kitchen, where his mother treated the dying, multiplied by ten, by fifty, by a hundred. He had expected bombed-out buildings but instead found himself confronted with broken human bodies.
This is where they plan on filming me? (M/N) turned to Mashirao. "This won't work," he said. "I won't be good here."
Mashirao must have seen the panic in (M/N)'s eyes, because he stopped for a moment and placed his hands on (M/N)'s shoulders. "You will. Just let them see you. That would do more for them than any doctor in the world could."
A man directing the incoming patients caught sight of them, did a sort of double take, then strode over.
"This is Commander Sasaki of Eight," Mashirao said. "Commander, Soldier (M/N) (L/N)."
"Yes, I know who he is," Sasaki said. "You're alive, then. We weren't sure." (M/N) swore he heard a note of accusation in that voice.
"I'm still not sure myself," (M/N) answered.
"Been In recovery." Mashirao tapped his head. "Bad concussion. But he insisted on coming to see your wounded."
"You think this is a good idea?" Shoto said, frowning at the hospital. "Assembling your wounded like this?"
(M/N) didn't. Any sort of contagious disease would spread through the place like wildfire.
"I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die," Sasaki said.
"That's not what I meant," Shoto told him.
"Well, currently that's my other option. But if you come up with a third and get Kaina to back it, I'm all ears." Sasaki waved (M/N) towards the door. "Come on in, Mockingjay. And by all means, bring your friends."
(M/N) glanced back at the freak show that was his crew, readied himself and followed Sasaki into the hospital. Some sort of heavy, industrial curtain hung the length of the building, forming a sizable corridor. Corpses laid side by side, curtain brushing their heads, white cloths concealing their faces.
"We've got a mass grave started a few blocks west of here, but I can't spare the manpower to move them yet," said Sasaki. He found a slit in the curtain and opened it wide.
(M/N)'s fingers wrapped around Shoto's wrist. "Don't leave my side," (M/N) said under his breath.
"I'm right here," Shoto answered quietly.
YOU ARE READING
A Means to an End | Katsuki Bakugou x Male Reader
FanfictionBOOK 3 of the Mha x Hunger Games crossover. (M/N) was lost. He had been betrayed by those around him. He had lost the one person he was trying to protect. He was the face of the revolution, though. So despite his pain and suffering, he had to move f...
