Immortal BNHA

9 Jason

Mydoria inhaled his burger, savoring the rich flavors that contrasted sharply with the weight of the conversation around him. He glanced at Hana, who leaned back in her chair with a smirk. “Old Ghost must really want you badly, or she’s trying to prove a point,” she teased, her tone playful but with an underlying seriousness.

“Why is she called Old Ghost?” Mydoria asked, curiosity piqued.

Hana took a moment to collect her thoughts, her expression shifting to one of contemplation. “She was going to tell you anyway, but Old Ghost is an immortal. She has a weak immortality Quirk called Vitality.”

“Vitality,” Mydoria repeated, letting the name linger in his mind, intrigued by its implications.

“Uh-huh,” Hana replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Although it’s not public information, so don’t go opening your mouth about it. It’d make her situation a lot easier on her.”

“What do you mean, ma’am?” Mydoria asked, confusion knitting his brow.

Hana’s expression turned somber as she explained, “She can legally never retire from the Marines for her own protection. It’s complicated, but the military needs to ensure that her abilities are always available. If she were to step down, it could expose her to all kinds of risks.”

“Ah man,” Mydoria muttered, feeling the weight of Hana’s words settle heavily in the air. He could only imagine the burden of such a life—bound to serve with no end in sight, her status forever a secret. It painted a stark picture of sacrifice and the hidden struggles that came with her Quirk. The burger, once a comforting distraction, suddenly felt insignificant in the face of the challenges they all faced.

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A gruff-looking man, appearing to be in his late teens, sat at the dimly lit pub, meticulously cleaning his Desert Eagle. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of stale beer and fried food, punctuated by the occasional laughter of patrons. “Yo, Jason,” called out one of the barflies, a woman with an air of confidence as she leaned against the counter. “I heard you got paid. Care to show me a good time?”

“No thanks,” Jason replied, his voice low and gravelly as he continued his task, focusing intently on the weapon in his hands.

“You're no fun,” she pouted, her tone teasing but insistent.

“And it’d be even less fun stuck with AIDS for all of time,” he grumbled, not bothering to look up.

“But you know I’m clean,” she pressed, her voice sultry as she sauntered over and nuzzled against his back.

“Get off me!” Jason snapped, irritation bubbling to the surface.

“Why?” she replied, her playful demeanor unfazed. Suddenly, she felt the cold metal of his Desert Eagle press against her temple. “A**hole!” she exclaimed, scrambling off him, her earlier confidence now replaced with indignation. “I was only trying to get you in the sack with me!”

“I ain’t interested,” Jason stated flatly, his eyes still on the weapon.

“Williams! The man wants to see you!” came a voice from the back room, cutting through the tension.

“Yes, sir,” Jason answered, rising from his seat and setting the Desert Eagle aside before walking toward the door that led to another room. Inside, he was greeted by a scene that seemed all too familiar: a man surrounded by his gaggle of women, all of them fawning over him.

“Jason,” cooed the man, a sinister smile spreading across his face. “How’s my favorite fixer?”

“Well, sir,” Jason replied, straightening up as he recognized the man as Dr. Xander Graves, the notorious leader of The Vanguard Syndicate. He had made a name for himself in the underbelly of society, and while Jason had reservations about working for villains, he couldn’t deny the pay was good.

This man was just the latest in a long line of employers Jason had taken on after severing ties with his sister, Amy. The rift between them had grown wide after five decades in the Marines, a path Jason now deemed a waste of his talents. He felt a bitter resentment towards Amy for squandering her potential—after marrying that Charlie Laidlaw and adopting his surname, she had dragged the Williams name through the mud. Their father had been right about society: Amy was too blinded by her devotion to Uncle Sam to see the truth.

“I have news for you!” Dr. Graves announced, his tone conspiratorial. “There’s an expo happening in a few months. Work your magic and make the larger corrupt society realize they can’t stop evolution from remaking the world in its image.”

“Understood, sir,” Jason replied, a flicker of excitement coursing through him at the thought of the chaos he could unleash. This was more than just a job; it was an opportunity to carve out a legacy that would eclipse his sister’s choices, fulfilling their father’s dream of an empire, starting with this madman’s vision for the future. Jason felt a sense of purpose growing within him, overshadowing the bitterness that had once clouded his judgment.