Chapter Text
A little boy sat on the stool and cried. His mother was sleeping. She will never wake up. His father was sad, so sad. He patted the boy on his head and whispered a few words just as a pleasant smell filled boy's nostrils.
His father was a Good Man.
The little boy was strong. He was righteous. He will make the world a better place. Because his mother was a Good Woman, and she was killed by Bad Men. Because his father was a Good Man and multiple Bad Men and Bad Women tried to kill him.
The boy will make the world a better place.
He will just have to get rid of every Bad Man and Bad Woman.
The little boys stood in front of tall building. He was freezing. He was wet. He was alone. He was dirty.
He was empty.
He smiled, scaled the wall and opened the window. From the inside. Without touching. As always. He went inside. He found the Bad Man sleeping in his bed. There was a guard outside the door. She was standing straight. Alert.
He was silent.
He covered Bad Man's mouth and activated his quirk. Bad Man didn't wake up. Bad Man will never wake up.
He was fast.
He left the room. He closed the window. He jumped down on the street.
He had no presence as he disappeared in the shadows.
The little boy stayed little. But he wanted to be big. He told his father.
Sweet, sweet smell twirled in his nostrils. His father whispered a few words.
The little boy stayed little. It didn't matter.
The little boy was tired. Very tired. He just got rid of another Bad Man. His father ruffled his hair and frowned.
He asked and boy replied. He asked again and the boy replied the same. His father asked once again, annoyed, accusing. The boy tried to reply but his vision blurred and his knees buckled.
When he woke up his father was sad, so very sad again.
The boy was never tired.
The little boy saw a lot. He never remembered.
He asked his father how to remember and the man frowned.
The little boy didn't ask again.
The little boy tasted blood. And he saw.
He told his father. He was pleased.
The little boy was happy. He was going to taste a lot of blood.
The little boy felt strange in his skin. He felt weird. Sometimes it lasted for a few hours. Sometimes it lasted for longer, so long that he wasn't able to tell which state was normal and which was not.
He didn't tell his father.
The little boy obediently played with cars, guns and knives.
The little boy suddenly knew where everyone was. His father was unsettled. He did wrong he did wrong he did wrong he did wｒｏｎｇ
His father was happy. And now there was more of this sweet, sweet smell in the air.
The little boy did good.
His father was smiling more lately. He was home more often and hummed while working on papers.
The little boys supposed it was good.
His father started taking him on missions. It was exciting. The little boys could watch him fight Bad Man and Bad Woman and learn.
His father told him he was good for stealth but not good at head-on confrontation.
The little boy listened and took it to his heart.
His father killed his aunt.
He killed her. HE KILLED HER.
HE KILLED MUM'S SISTER.
SHE COULDN'T BE A BAD WOMAN. MOM WAS A GOOD WOMAN!
The little boy snapped his head up for the first time in what felt like forever. He walked up to his father and held his arm in a death grip.
The little boy gained his freedom, his mind, his age and two quirks.
The little boy would manage.
The little boys stood in front of tall building. He was freezing. He was wet. He was alone. He was bloody. He was dirty.
He was twenty years old.
He walked in and went straight to the first police officer he saw.
The little boy confessed all his crimes.