On the Run

Findings

I return! With a tame chapter.

Your eyes searched the basement, checking to make sure you were alone. You focused your attention on your quirk, checking for any nervous vibrations. There was none, and you sighed in relief. You didn't want anyone to infringe on your me-time. After one more check, you pressed against the padded basement wall. Immediately, a door panel slid to the side, and you entered.

The room was dusty from your lack of use, with cobwebs littering the corners, copious amounts of dust on the surfaces, and the smell of mildew prominent inside. You brought out the duster and a mask, wiping away the dust in the panel room. You wiped down the table and chair with disinfectant, dusted off the table, and brought in a humidifier to bring life into the room.

Growing up, you learned that alone time and personal space were nonexistent. Having little siblings will do that to you. Not in the bathroom, not in the bedroom. Nowhere. So you found ways to be alone. Hiding in closets, sitting in the backyard, and walking to parks. When you discovered sitting on your roof, it was a game changer.

Even today, you realized there was no true space for you in your own house. Someone was always somewhere occupying space in some way form or fashion. While you don't blame them (they're probably just as tired as you) it's hard to feel free for a few moments to yourself.

It's why you're so happy you remembered this place.

The previous owner of your house, a support designer that you worked with, designed the room. You bought it from her directly as a gift for incredible hero work in your early days. Equipped with a small tv, a desk and desktop, and a chair, the secret room was a small reprieve in your hectic house. In a far corner, another glass case for another hero suit. Behind it is your prized collection: a sword stand.

These swords were designed and fashioned by your father, who was also a support tech designer and modern-day blacksmith. He designed most of your weaponry (though he didn't know you bought them), but the swords came from when you were younger. You remembered when you'd follow him into his workshop, observing the melted rock while he molded it into something incredible. 

In the middle of the stand, your most prized possession. As a gift, he let you design your first knife and made it for you. It was also how you discovered that you could manipulate metals.

You stared down at the precious gift, tracing the inscription. Under the inscription was a name.

(F/N) and daughter.

You smiled, remembering how the inscription came to be.

"What do we do now?" a younger you asked, tugging on your father's arm. He chuckled, nudging your gaze back to the shiny weapon.

"Well, we have to figure out what you're gonna write for your inscription."

"Inscrip- what?"

"Inscription," he spells out carefully. "It's a special message just for you." 

He gently wipes soot from your cheeks, adjusting the mask on your face again.

You hum, squinting. "For me?"

Your father nods. "Yes, dear. It can be anything you want."

You tap a finger against your chin. "Anything?"

"Yes."

"Is it forever?"

"Eh. Sorta. It'll be really hard to melt it and reform the knife to make another inscription. So choose wisely."

You hum to yourself, swaying on your feet. "I've got it!"