Era

45

As Era unpacked the last of her meager possessions, she took a step back to survey her new, dingy apartment. The flaking paint was a step up from the soot-stained drywall of her old place, and the lack of moldering insulation peaking through was certainly reassuring. The place was cramped, but she'd never needed anything more than a bed and a microwave and this apartment had both. An actual bedframe, too, even if it creaked slightly beneath her weight. A threadbare couch, a rusty stovetop, running water in the sinks and in her mildewed shower. And a television, which was a luxury she definitely didn't need but hey, she wasn't complaining.

The disinterested landlord was an added bonus. Era had suspected the moment she walked in that she would be sharing a building with several lowlifes and small-time villains, but the way he pressed the key into her hands and didn't even glance at her hastily forged paperwork confirmed that for her. As long as she paid her rent on time he wouldn't care what she did to earn it, and that suited her just fine.

The new location was just a smidge closer to UA, too. That was always nice—less time commuting meant more time for her extracurricular activities. Speaking of which...

Era resisted the urge to flop onto her new couch and instead rifled through her backpack for her tattered cloak and hood, fastening the feathered mask to her face. She checked the locks on her door one last time before gently sliding open her window, ignoring its screeching protests and resolving to grease it thoroughly when she came back. A squeaky door was a good warning of intruders, but a squeaky window? That was unacceptable, considering how often she'd be slipping in and out.

Era was eager to scope out her new patrol route, to map fresh paths across the rooftops and discover the hidden places where people preferred to do violence. It was the right play, the only reasonable course of action after moving into an untested area. Of course... there was also the far more irritating motivation—that this would be one of her last nights unsupervised before her internship with Aizawa.

Thankfully, the odds of her running into Eraserhead tonight were low. New district, new pro hero routes to learn and avoid; but Eraser likely wasn't one of them. This neighborhood was probably just as run-down as her old one, which meant she at least wouldn't have to worry about the big-name heroes. Heavy-hitters typically didn't bother with places like this, especially after dark.

Given all that, she really should've expected the vigilante.

It was a reflex, jumping into that alley. Someone was screaming bloody murder for a tenth of a second before it was suddenly, mercilessly muffled by a hand or a cloth and really did it matter? The point was it was muffled, the point was they wanted it quiet and the only thing Era could think of was to drag whatever sordid business they had kicking and screaming into the inescapable noise of fists and blood and broken bones.

Three figures, cornering a fourth. Era jumped from the rooftop, smoothly catching herself on a window ledge before planting her feet soundly onto the shoulders of one of the assailants, knocking them to the ground beneath her weight. A quick glanced confirmed that the would-be victim was alive and running before she turned to knock away an incoming blow, feeling a jolt of pain run up her arm where their skin made contact.

Her vision fell away. Era tried to blink away the blindness, but a whistle of air had her ducking yet another clumsy swipe and she kicked out in the general direction of her foe. Fuck. Some sort of sensory-alteration quirk, then? The pain had been a nuisance, but the vision was going to get very old, very fast.

Era could fight blind. She'd had to learn, especially in missions that relied on cover of night or a blown fuse box. Problem was, that usually meant her enemies were robbed of sight as well. In situations where she was the only one blinded, things got more difficult to keep track of the more people she had to face.