KamiJirou-Dreaming

Of Mysteries and Travel Buddies

Surely, Denki should get to know the pristine white ceiling that always greeted him when he awoke. An acquaintance if, you will. Because for whatever reason, Denki seemed to find himself confined to a hospital bed. Not as much as Midoriya, but getting there. 

The difference, and quite a welcome difference, was the girl sitting beside him in her own bed of healing. Currently, Kyouka was nose deep in her book of, well, she called it descriptive literature while Denki just called it smut, much to her chagrin. By the looks of it, she was in a good part, her cheeks flushed as she read at an intense pace.

Slowly, Denki rose and grabbed the orange juice carton and platter of pancakes and began to chow down. The sun had begun to rise, and Denki glanced at the digital clock. 5:00 in the morning.  Just as his body had intended, Denki rose with the sun, no matter how late he had gone to sleep the night before. By all estimates, that would be around midnight. Not bad for a covert operation.

But, as Denki settled for a pancake without butter and syrup, the computers ran through his mind. The stuff he had seen while surfing the network for information, they sickened him. No longer having the robust appetite he was so used to sporting, he leaned into a blank stare at the ceiling. 

These people, these monsters, how could anyone justify their behavior. Sure, people with quirks tended to be less forgiving to their quirkles peers, as demonstrated by Midoriya and Bakugou. But that never justified extreme violence. The content on the desktop almost made the electric blonde hurl in disgust.

They would capture wandering civilians with quirks and torture them, trying to pry their weaknesses from them. The screams and pleas for release didn't matter to them. Flogging, electric shock, branding, and even ripping the nails off the fingers and toes. Denki didn't even want to remember what would happen should they have caught a woman. He didn't need to go through the hours of screaming and shrieking that inhabited the disgusting hard drive. He didn't need to look at the original designs to see the majority of the building being dedicated to the torture and humiliation of innocent civilians. Denki didn't need to look into the cells at the malnourished bodies and the piles of dead corpses. All he needed to remember was the blank stares of the dead and the broken sobs of the still living. 

The fact that these people looked like your everyday office worker, barista, bartender, student, you name it, it weakened Denki's belief in the human decency. Could it really be such a truth that monsters hid in the streets of downtown London, of the pubs of Yorkshire? Or was it that no one paid them any mind, or refused to care? They were barbarians, devils in plain sight, but no one seemed to see or care.

But what sickened Denki the most was the targets. Age didn't matter. Gender didn't matter. What you did in life didn't matter. If you were caught, you had better pray for a rescue or a quick release. People who could pass as a kindly grandma were hanged on lamposts. Children that would've been passed as annoying little siblings were broken down and mutilated. 

All for what? Justice?

"Don't even try to justify that, you bastards," Denki muttered under his breath, the hole in his stomach bigger than ever before, his last pancake left untouched.

Looking over at his partner, his heart clenched when his mind subconsciously put her through these situations. 

No, that would not happen. Denki would make sure of it. He would make sure nothing would happen to her, and no dirty hands would ever touch her. To his dying day, she would always be safe, he swore on his life.

He knew what this meant; it meant strategizing every movement that he could, controlling or at least influencing every factor involved. It meant controlling the people around her in order to give her the upper hand in every fight, ensuring she had little chance of losing.