leftover_dirt
The rain fell in heavy sheets across the abandoned warehouse district, each droplet catching the sickly yellow glow of the few working streetlights. Eraserhead moved silently across the rooftops, his capture weapon coiled and ready. Intel suggested the League of Villains was using this area as a temporary hideout, and he'd been tracking their movements for weeks.
What he hadn't expected was to find Tomura Shigaraki sitting alone on a fire escape, staring out at the rain-soaked city with an expression that almost looked... melancholy.
Aizawa paused, crouched behind a ventilation unit. The villain's usual manic energy was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Shigaraki sat with his knees drawn up, careful to keep only four fingers touching the metal railing. His pale blue hair hung damp across his face, and for a moment, he looked less like the symbol of chaos and more like a lost young man.
"I know you're there," Shigaraki said without turning around, his voice carrying a strange exhaustion. "Your presence is... different from the others who've been watching me."
Aizawa emerged from his hiding spot slowly, landing silently on the fire escape below. "Most people don't want to have a conversation with the person hunting them."
"Most people don't understand what it's like to be a weapon someone else made," Shigaraki replied, finally turning to look at the hero. His red eyes held none of their usual malice-only a bone-deep weariness that caught Aizawa off guard.