Cognitive Dissonance
Zyra shifted uncomfortably in the old recliner, the plastic protecting the faded faux-leather squeaking with each movement. She had only been in the room for a few minutes, but was already growing to resent her visit. A rat staring at her from atop the nearby desk only exacerbated the feeling. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of cheap air freshener, fighting a losing battle against the musty odor of old paper and something indefinable, something vaguely off.
The office was about what you would expect for someone of his profession. The walls were painted a calming blue, and a soft white glow came from the lights above. A window sat on the opposite side of the room, angled in just the right spot to allow for the evening light to dance across the carpeted floor. A large mahogany desk sat against the far wall, allowing the person behind to have a view of the entire room. Atop it were nearly a dozen desk toys and display items - including a solved rubik's cube, a newtons cradle, and at least three chinese finger traps. A small cage containing a single rat was stationed near the edge of the desk, its occupant unusually docile. Framed pictures hung on almost any free space, most of them being pictures of the office's owner and his various clients. There were several cheesy images of cats with captions like 'Hang in there', as well as framed letters and notes.
The only one that went against this pattern was a grainy photograph of an elevator door, which hung directly behind the desk. Despite it's simplicity and unassuming nature, the contrast with the other photographs, it's poor quality, and the terrible lighting of the image all contributed to it's oppressive aura. Even for someone like Zyra, it was uncomfortable to look at for too long. Was that intentional on his part? A way to upset his victims, make them easier to manipulate?
The Therapist sat behind the large desk, hands folded neatly in front of him, his smile unwavering. It was unnerving, that constant, placid expression. A mask he wore flawlessly. She had chosen to come here of her own will - more to make sure the bridge with Mr. Therapist wasn't burned than out of any actual desire to indoctrinate him to the cult.
"I'd like to formally apologize for the behavior of our Puck. His vulgarity leaves much to be desired." Zyra began, her voice smooth. Practiced.
The man that sat across from her look confused for a moment, before nodding slightly, the smile quickly returning to his face. "Ah, no need to apologize! If I remember right, he was a proper gentleman when we spoke. I'm sure he just got a little nervous when I turned down his offer. I should be the one apologizing - him and his men were arrested, right? That must have been very scary!" His tone was light, almost airy, completely out of sync with the weight of the situation. The cheerful innocence was grating, like nails on a chalkboard to her refined sensibilities.
Zyra narrowed her eyes, just a fraction. His voice sounded genuine, laced with that disarming naivete Puck had described. But how could a villain of his apparent caliber, with the sheer volume of knowledge in his head, truly think like that? She sighed inwardly. Puck's report was unfortunately accurate - this guy really was 'cooked in the head', or at least, playing the part masterfully. Perhaps the latter was even more dangerous.
"Be that as it may... I came here to extend an apology on behalf of the Red Finger as a whole. Hopefully, you'll see fit to reconsider our offer in the future. I'm sure if money is the issue, the High Priest would be happy to spare more."
Mr. Therapist's smile faltered slightly, and he looked almost downcast as he responded.
"Ah, uhm... I'm sorry, but I don't really want to work exclusively for your group. I do my work to help people, not for the money." He held up his hands in a placating gesture, almost afraid as he stammered. "O-oh, but I'd be more than happy to provide my services to your group still! I just can't guarantee I won't work with others that need my help."
It took effort to keep the annoyed look off her face. This man was a deluded sap. He clearly cared about the money, why else would he charge for his services? He was likely making excuses, so he could continue reaping the wealth from everyone. And if he actually meant what he said, if this altruistic facade was genuine, he was far too soft for the cutthroat lifestyle this profession demanded. He’d be devoured by the very world he claimed to want to help.
Well, at the end of the day, it didn't matter that much. He was still willing to provide his services for the Red Finger despite their attempted kidnapping. That was really all that mattered. A foot in the door, a tool to be used. That was the only reason Zyra had come in the first place.
"...Very well. If that is your decision, I won't protest. But If you ever reconsider our offer stands." Zyra conceded, annoyance carefully hidden.
Zyra paused, hand resting on the handle of her briefcase. Within was over 10 million Yen in neatly wrapped bills. It would be a waste to return it all - she should at least do something productive on this excursion, right?
"...You offer accelerated training in various fields, yes? I remember reading about your work with some students in Tokyo before you migrated. Top of their class overnight. If possible, I would like to schedule an appointment with you."
A calculated move, a way to test his abilities firsthand. And perhaps, if she could stomach it, get in the man's good graces. Get an opening to exert her own influence.
Just like that, the Therapist was back to that disturbing smile, nodding to himself slightly as he stared at her.
"Wow! I'm glad you trust me so much! Usually I'm only hired to work on the lower level members of organizations. Well, I'm going to be busy the next few days seeing some other clients, but if you talk with one of my nurses I'm sure they'd be able to schedule something soon!" His enthusiasm was unsettlingly earnest, like a child eager to please.
He was far too informal, considering the subject matter. Amongst the Red Finger (barring a certain cephalopod), Zyra was likely the most capable of resisting Mr. Therapist's influence. Her quirk was a similar 'type' as his, giving her more insight into it's function and behavior. And, more importantly, if he got the idea to mess with her in ways she didn't ask for, she'd be able to zombify him and everyone else in the building.
Mutually assured destruction. If he was half as smart as he claimed to be, he could certainly see it.
The woman opened the briefcase, retrieving a stack of 10,000 yen notes. She held it towards the man, but he shook his head softly, eyes not leaving her face.
"I don't really deal with the money side of things. Thank you though. Oh, and if Puck and his men decide to come back, please let them know I'm sorry for the trouble! I'll offer free memory wiping so they don't have to remember being in those awful cells!"
The villain didn't respond, simply closing the briefcase and standing from her seat. She moved for the door, contemplating if she should even bother returning. Having a year or two of martial arts experience injected into her brain would be nice, but she didn't exactly plan on fighting by herself anytime soon. Might be more effective to convince the High Priest to shell out for training on the lesser agents within the cult.
Zyra reached the door, turning back to face Mr. Therapist one last time. “Consider my offer still open.” she stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. She exited the office, leaving the Therapist alone with the silent rat and his thoughts.
Akkoro looked down from the rooftops, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stifling humidity of the streets below. There was more activity than usual, people celebrating the coming weekend with barhopping and visiting shops, and students mourning the end of their vacation and the upcoming school year. She turned towards the hospital that her target was likely operating out of, a pair of binoculars raised to her eyes.
She had been excited when she first received this assignment. Despite being a newer villain, Mr. Therapist was incredibly active, to the point where even the lowest estimates of his victim count were in the hundreds. Now that she was actually trying to track the man down, however, she was growing tired of his constant movement and nonsensical behavior.
She had nearly cornered him. Found the clinic he was operating out of for the last few months - prepared to move in and take him down with a couple days of prep. But before she could manage it, the Red Finger launched a raid, and Mr. Therapist was saved by a few patrolling students from Shiketsu. He escaped the scene shortly after, and it appears that Mr. Therapist had abandoned his Clinic after police began to swarm it.
Tracking him down after that had been... annoying, to say the least. He left few witnesses that were willing to speak about their interactions with him, either out of gratitude or simply because they didn't remember him. She had to resort to the few paper trails she could scrounge up - and that was how she found herself stalking outside Marutamachi Hospital. It was one of the few places he consistently returned to, providing end-of-life care and erasing memories for relatives and overworked staff.
Surely something he thought was noble. Akkoro didn't care for the morality of the situation, honestly. She was more annoyed by the sentimentality and self-absorbed righteousness that the man undoubtedly carried himself with. She hated dealing with that kind of person, the holier-than-thou types that spend all day preening their feathers.
The hospital doors slid open, distracting Akkoro from her thoughts. Walking out was an ordinary man in a lab coat - the only thing visually differing him from the countless other doctors that worked here was his age, the man looking barely out of high school. At first glance, calling him a supervillain was laughable. His costume could be worn on the street with little fanfare, and he didn't even have a mask. The absent grin on his face was closer to a stoner from some American movie than the master manipulator the Commission made him out to be. Akkoro frowned. Was he intentionally making himself look nonthreatening, trying to lure victims into a false sense of security?
Mr. Therapist wasn't alone. He had emerged with a foreign man, European by the looks of him, dressed in drab, practical clothing that (along with the sunglasses he was wearing) screamed ‘shady’. Akkoro recognized the man almost instantly. De Jais, or 'Jet Black'. A thief from France, and one of the more infamous criminals from his home country. He held a potent shadow-based teleportation quirk and a reputation for clean getaways. Akkoro recalled he had made global news when he and an associate successfully emptied the Louvre of dozens of priceless paintings, several of which remain unrecovered to this day.
What the hell was he doing in Japan, working for another villain that hadn't even been active for a year? Drawn to him by the promise of skills and knowledge that could enable more elaborate heists? Or, had the Reaper's activities in Europe been horrific enough that he sought a way to forget?
Didn't matter. Akkoro was just lucky they hadn't made use of his quirk to teleport away. If they had, she'd be left without any leads, forced to continue her investigation or wait for another month before they returned to the hospital. She walked forwards, the color of her skin shifting ever so slightly with each step so she could remain imperceptible. When she reached the edge of the building she jumped off, falling halfway to the ground before two tentacles show out, gripping the wall with suction cups and slowing her fall. She barely made a sound as she landed on the ground a moment later, tentacles detaching and following behind her.
Akkoro followed the pair at a measured pace, keeping a distance of at least 30 feet at all times. The crowd that dominated the busy streets was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the noise made noticing Akkoro through her camouflage nearly impossible, her soft steps overshadowed by the sounds of chatter and traffic. On the other, she couldn't directly capture Mr. Therapist and his accomplice. Not without damaging her carefully cultivated public image - a price that Akkoro wasn't willing to pay. She'd have to wait for him to start shit, or at least get somewhere without witnesses.
The Therapist, as if reading her mind, led his companion to an even more populated area. The two turned onto a street crawling with bars and arcades, the sound of pachinko machines and cheering joining the cacophony.
Akkoro cursed under her breath. Just her fucking luck...
Mr. Therapist stopped only a few paces later, tugging at his companions sleeve and pointing to a crowd in the distance. The man nodded, and they hastened their pace. They were approaching what looked like a karaoke box, a small crowd loosely packed around the entrance. Two stragglers broke off from the crowd, moving to meet the Therapist and the foreign man. One was a pale, greasy-haired woman in loose-fitting casual wear. She looked around anxiously as she jogged towards the Therapist, though it seemed like she was relieved to see him. The other stranger drew far more attention - a massive mutant almost entirely composed of dirt, his form only vaguely humanoid. A massive trench coat was draped over his upper body, but considering he was at least 8 feet tall even with a hunched posture, it was a tight fit.
He was familiar, though she had to strain more compared to De Jais. Sulsa? Sulsik? No, Suslik. Ties to Russian crime syndicates, hired out as a goon. Did Mr. Therapist purposefully target foreigners for his supporters? He could teach them Japanese quick, so it made some sense...
A large hole in the space where his mouth should have been tightened into a thin slit. "S-sir! Here on time, like you asked!"
Several bystanders turned to stare as the massive mutant stood tall, reminiscent of a soldier standing at attention. The Therapist laughed before setting him at ease, the dirt creature almost immediately folding in on himself. The European retrieved an equally foreign brand of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, apparently satisfied now that he had safely delivered his ward. The pale woman stammered nervously at the exchange, looking around at the crowd as she did.
"M-maybe you should be a bit q-quieter, sir... We-"
She looked around nervously as she spoke, suddenly freezing as her eyes passed over Akkoro. The Hero paused her approach. What-
The girl jumped back, moving behind the massive mutant and speaking to the others in a low tone.
"Y-you were... Someone... invisible..."
Akkoro couldn't make out everything she said - not with the distance and the noises around them. But it was easy to guess the message. The girl pointed straight at Akkoro, and as the others gathered their bearings, she realized that the situation was turning south fast. The mutant immediately moved in front of the Therapist, hands morphing into crude clubs of earth as he faced an invisible enemy. The foreign man, meanwhile, moved directly to Mr. Therapist's side, hand gripping the man's forearm.
"Oh wow, someone followed us? Monsieur Black, you're more popular than I thought!"
The foreign man pulled more forcefully, dragging Mr. Therapist behind the Mutant and safely out of sight. "Non. Not me, Sir. They're here for you."
A crowd was beginning to form. Shit. This was not supposed to happen. Well, at the very least, only one of them could actually see her. Akkoro began to retreat, backing into the crowd and out of direct sight. She'd have to follow from a further distance, or maybe disen-
"Ahh! S-stop it!"
Akkoro paused midstep. The pale woman holding her arm as if in pain, swaying in place. The foreign man maintained his vice-like grip and stared at the spot where Akkoro was a few moments ago, but the dirt mutant and Mr. Therapist turned to look at the pale woman.
"Wh-! Are you okay?!"
The Therapist seemed genuinely concerned, attempting to move from behind the mutant - and when the foreign man's grip stopped him, settled for reaching out and grabbing the woman's arm. She threw her arm back, pulling free from both the Therapist's grip, as well as the invisible force attacking her.
"P-please, we didn't do anything wrong! H-heroes are su-"
She fell over, landing hard on the ground and coughing violently. Not the most convincing thing, but with the crowd that was congregating, that didn't really matter. It suddenly dawned on Akkoro what was happening.
The woman was lying. She wasn't actually being hurt. She was pretending to be assaulted by some invisible opponent, which she would blame on a hero. The public would connect an invisible hero with only one of a few people in Kyoto...
She was trying to force Akkoro to reveal herself and assuage the crowd's fears. Smart girl. She'd be the first to get taken out.
She cried out again, and Akkoro dropped her camouflage.
"Lying about getting hurt isn't really cool, you know~? I haven't even lifted a tentacle yet. I should have though, considering what your buddy has done." Her voice was sharp, cutting through the noise of the crowd. Laced with just the right amount of playful disdain that accompanied her public persona.
The Therapist seemed confused for a second, before sighing in relief. He knelt as far as the foreign man would allow, offering a hand to help the girl to her feet. Akkoro felt a weight lift off of her when his eyes moved away.
"Oh wow, thank goodness you're okay Te- Ah, I shouldn't say your name now, right? Uh, let's goooo wiiiiith... Oh! Bloody Mary! Like it? It's a urban legend from the West, where if you say-"
Akkoro took a subtle step forwards, trying to maneuver into a blindspot so she would have a better chance of rushing him down. The second she moved though, Mr. Therapist's head snapped in her direction, voice stopping dead in his throat. When his eyes fell on her, Akkoro quickly took a step back, mind stuttering. In an instant, she fell back on the training she received. Memory alteration quirks like Mr. Therapist's typically affected the past experiences of the target. Anything within her current perception was likely 'safe' from being altered or deleted - so she had to attach as many relevant memories to it as possible.
She was looking at Mr. Therapist. He is a villain that can alter memories. She was assigned to detain him as soon as possible. The girl can see through Akkoro's Camouflage. The other villains, De Jais and-
"Hm? Oh! Haha! If you're trying to limit my quirk, it would be better to think about other things. If you distract yourself, I'd have to look manually. This just lets me transfer everything neatly into your short term memory, and then I can just dump it all at once. N-not that I would, of course!"
Mr. Therapist holds his hands up in a placating gesture, the foreign man keeping an iron grip on his forearm. He tensed slightly, grabbing the still-lit cigarette with his free hand and tossing it to the ground. Akkoro narrowed her eyes, tentacles raised behind her like whips.
"Thanks for the advice, but sorry if I don't trust you right off the bat. Villains aren't really my type, y'know? Especially ones as fucked up as you."
The mutant bristled, dirt shifting as he took a step forward. Mr. Therapist reached out, hand digging into the softly packed earth - urging the mutant back. If he wanted to, the mutant could have very easily broken the restraint. But he obeyed the Therapists silent command, arms shifting from clubs to crude hands and back again every few seconds. Almost like he was clenching and unclenching a fist.
"I, uh... really don't like using words like that. Please don't do it again, okay? Sorry you don't like me! Maybe you can join us for karaoke, we can talk this out! I'm sure you'd change your mind once you got to know how I help people."
Was he really this delusional? Trying to convince one of the Top 10 Heroes in the country that he wasn't a mind-altering monster? Or was he so confident in himself and his followers that he thought they could take her down?
"That won't be happening. I'm gonna bring you in for multiple counts of unlicensed quirk usage, psychic assault on persons using a quirk, kidnapping, terrorism, and multiple counts of first degree murder. If you come in easily, I promise not to bite too hard-"
She didn't get a chance to finish. The foreign man pushed the Therapist, Akkoro's target seemingly falling into the Mutant's shadow.
And he was gone. God fucking damn it...
"W-wait a minute, what abou-"
The foreign man was already grabbing the pale woman mid sentence, shoving the girl into a dark alley where she promptly fell into the ground. Two lost already.
With the Therapist safely out of the picture, the mutant raced forwards, the crude humanoid shape he had taken falling apart as he approached Akkoro. By the time he got close, he was more akin to a sentient landslide, a rolling wave of earth that sought to crush Akkoro under his weight. She couldn't reliably hit him - not only would he probably be unhurt, but she could get stuck and pulled into his mass. Her venom wouldn't work on him, even if she was pushed far enough to use it. She'd suffocate if he actually managed to engulf her, gills wouldn't help. And with a teleporting ally, he was much more difficult to work around...
One of the tentacles on her back shot out, wrapping tightly around one of the dozens of neon signs that hung above the busy street. Akkoro flung into the air, the wave of dirt passing inches beneath her feet. She tensed as she rested against the sign, ready to leap if it began to break under the full weight of her body and tentacles. It was that tension that allowed her to react as she saw the glint of a gun barrel, poking out of the shadow she cast on the brickwork of the building next to her. The shot rang out only a moment after she let go, the bullet grazing one of her tentacles as she fell back to the ground below, landing gently on the pavement.
The crowd began to fully panic at the sound of the gunshot, scrambling over themselves to get away from the fight. Luckily, it seemed like the Mutant purposefully avoided engulfing them, moving himself out of their path as he wrapped back towards Akkoro. Good. She knew that Mr. Therapist was one of the more 'merciful' villains, but the files she had access to didn't mention how his supporters felt on the topic.
Akkoro raced forwards, tentacles grabbing nearby light poles and signs to pull herself forwards with greater speed. Before she could reach the foreign man, he sunk straight into the ground. Fell into his own shadow? She snarled under her breath as she flipped through the air, landing on the side of a bar and using her suction cups to cling to the wall. If he could make his own shadow to teleport through, he was going to be nearly impossible to pin down. The mutant was trying to keep pace, but while his landslide could reach decent speeds, it was slow to accelerate or shift directions. The hero smiled to herself, one tentacle snapping down to a fire hydrant on the street below and prying the outlet loose.
A torrent of water shot out uncontrollably, immediately slamming into the mutant. A horrific and gargled screeching sound emanated from the creature, his body losing shape as it turned to mud. Akkoro had dealt with quirks like this before during her training. While they lacked traditional physiological weaknesses like organs, breaking apart their bodies was about as damaging to them as a normal person. 'Elemental' mutants were particularly vulnerable to environmental hazards like this.
As the mutant weakly attempted to reform himself and flee, Akkoro felt an intense pain in her leg, falling to her knee. She instinctively grabbed at the injury, hand pulling away with blood. Gunshot. Didn't look like it hit an artery, but Akkoro wasn't a doctor. She grimaced, tentacles supporting her as she rose back to her feet. In a dark alley, the Foreign man was watching her, the hand that presumably held the gun seeming to disappear in the shadows to his right. She leapt forwards as soon as she realized he was preparing another shot, bullet whizzing past her ear. Akkoro tensed. This one was a lot more vulnerable, but with his quirk, actually getting close enough to land a hit was going to be a problem.
She threw herself using the signs and light posts at her disposal, doing her best to keep constantly moving. Even if he could aim from any shadow, he still had to actually land a shot on her - easier said than done with her speed and verticality. But every time she closed the distance, he would just teleport to another alley, or the rooftops above.
Akkoro grit her teeth as another bullet hit her tentacles. They were tougher than her flesh, would recover faster, but getting whittled down like this was not a good look. She pulled herself behind a glowing neon sign, using the light and cover it provided to get a moment of reprieve. She breathed. Once. Twice. Her skin was already fading, matching the color of the light behind her.
She lowered herself to the ground with her tentacles, stepping on the pavement as softly as possible. De Jais was still hidden in the alley, half his body concealed in the shadows. He looked confused for a moment, as if he could see that she was no longer in her hiding place. Before he could react, a tentacle wrapped around his arm, yanking him into the street. Akkoro's camouflage faded as they wrestled, but with the man's gun knocked from his grip and suspended in the air by her tentacles, he had no shadows to fall into.
And that was it. The fight was over. A bit more bruised than she would have liked, but considering how the fight could have gone, this wasn't half bad.
"AGH! PUTAIN!"
Akkoro's grip tightened on the man's wrists and ankles, silencing him save for a hiss of pain. Less of a reason to play mother hen for a criminal when the crowd wasn't around, but had to keep things above board in case there was a camera. Besides, she would need this one to rat out where he sent the Therapist.
"You're under arrest for unlicensed quirk usage in a public space, aiding in the escape of a registered villain, and assaulting a government-sponsored hero. You-"
Every light in sight went out simultaneously, plunging the entire street into darkness. Fuck! A blackout? Or, more likely, another one of Mr. Therapist's supporters? How many goons did this guy fucking have!? She could feel her grip close tight on itself, De Jais using the darkness to teleport away.
The darkness didn't impede Akkoro as much as it would for other heroes. In addition to having impressive night vision, she had accurate enough awareness of her tentacles and limbs that she could navigate in the dark easily. She turned, only to see a hunched figure standing over the puddle that was once the dirt mutant. He was there for only a second before both disappeared. 10 more seconds passed in the darkness before the lights came back on.
All that was left was a partially flooded street, and a hero that had just let her prey escape. This wasn't the first time she had failed to catch a villain - but for her first 'serious' assignment after being named the #8 Hero in all of Japan, she had been hoping it would go smoothly. All she had managed to accomplish, however, was alerting Mr. Therapist that she was after him - and injuring his supporters in the process.
She sighed, raising the phone to her ear as she dialed the commission.
"Akkoro here. Mr. Therapist is definitely present in Kyoto - encountered him and his supporters on Shijo-dori. One of them saw through my camouflage and we fought. Working alongside foreign villains De Jais and Suslik. Managed to escape before I could detain them."
She frowned at the response that followed.
"No direct manipulation from Mr. Therapist occurred, no. I don't-"
She paused, nodding at the response that cut her off.
"Understood... I'll come in for questioning and confirm my memories hadn't been altered. Just give me time to get patched up first. Akkoro out."
She hung up the call, grimacing slightly. This was demeaning - she was only in his sight for a minute at most, and they wanted to run her through questioning to make sure she hadn't been affected by his quirk. Didn't it say in his file that he only altered long-term memories with consent from the target? It was unlikely to be a requirement for his quirk, but for someone as nuts as him, a psychological limitation was probably just as good as one imposed by his quirk.
She chuckled to herself. Unless he made her think that was what his file said. But considering she still wanted to beat his ass, she really doubted he could have changed too much. Whatever - if the commission wanted it, she'd have to comply. At least she wouldn't have to leave the city for it. There were a few clairvoyants she could contact here, even a lie detector or two if the commission really got on her case.
A rippling pattern crossed over her body as she quickly faded from view, chromatophores on her skin shifting to match the color of the surroundings. An empty, flooded street was all that remained in her wake.
The man's footsteps echoed as he walked through the darkened halls of the hospital. Bloody tools and medical equipment littered the ground, congregating in small hordes at the foot of each door he passed. The space was completely silent save for his footsteps, but the shapes moving behind each window told him he was far from alone. After a few minutes of walking down the twisting halls, he came across the only source of light on the entire floor.
An elevator. It stood out - sleek and modern compared to the dingy surroundings. The man didn't need to touch the call button before he could hear its soft movements. Didn't need to call for it before he could see each floor number light up, steadily climbing higher and higher.
Inexplicably, the man felt a growing sense of dread. If he stayed here, waited for the elevator to come, he would suffer. He knew this intrinsically, a fact ingrained in his body more than his mind. But even though he wished to turn and flee, to run down the pitch black halls of the hospital, his legs refused to obey him.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Each floor passed without pause. What floor was the man on? Maybe the elevator had already passed him. Yes, he hadn't pressed the call button, so what was the chance it would stop on his floor? That's crazy. Crazy.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The man gripped at his lab coat, an iron ball in his stomach. This was insane. He wasn't injured, so why was he in a hospital? How'd he get here? Where were all the patients and staff? Why was there so much bloo-
Ding. The elevator made a soft electronic buzz as it reached its final destination. The door slid open soundlessly. The silence inside was suffocating, broken only by a faint, rhythmic dripping
The man screamed.
De Jais swore as he shifted on the couch, his wounded arm straining with the movement. It could have been a lot worse, all things considered - a hairline fracture, apparently caused more from his struggle than anything the hero did. In the years he had operated out of Paris, he could count the number of times he was injured on both hands. Only a few months in Japan and he was already treating his third wound. Well, it made sense - the heroes who could survive the Reaper had to be tough shit. Tough like Rena-
The man snarled, snatching a loose cigarette off the table while retrieving the lighter from his pocket. It was simple in design, but felt heavy in his hands - titanium. As he flicked it open, he saw the message engraved just under the lid, normally hidden from sight.
Vendetta
He lit the cigarette, taking a long drag before snapping the lighter closed. He didn't remember where he got it from. Who gave it to him. What the message meant.
The Therapist made sure of that. And if De Jais asked for this, it meant he didn't want to know. He stared down, face reflected in the cold metal. When did he get so old?
A piercing scream echoed throughout the small clinic. De Jais sighed, stuffing the lighter into his coat pocket and snuffing out the cigarette in the ash tray. At first he always rushed as quickly as possible when that scream rang out, but after a month of this every night, he had grown desensitized. He closed his eyes, before he felt the familiar rushing sensation that came with falling through his own shadow. A deep darkness surrounded him for an instant, before a 'softer' dark embraced him.
He opened his eyes. A bedroom. It was simple, at least for the man that lived in it. An entire wall was dominated by bookshelves, half of the contents composed of the Therapist's own works. On a particularly boring guard duty, De Jais had tried reading one of the textbooks, but it seemed like every other page was in a different language. A small desk and laptop were nearby, presumably the place where Mr. Therapist had penned the books before having them printed. Alongside the books were several bird cages, the occupants disturbingly quiet despite the screaming man in the bed next to them. He was, of course, De Jais' current employer. Mr. Therapist - the Memory Man. De Jais had made quite the exodus when searching for him months ago. Looking at the sobbing man thrashing in his bed, De Jais couldn't help but feel a tinge of disgust. He was indebted to him, but what kind of villain cried in his sleep?
"Monsieur Thérapeute. Wake up. You are having another nightmare."
He shook at the man twice before a fist flew towards his face. Expertly thrown despite the man not even being conscious, it would have easily broken De Jais' nose if it landed. It connected with air, flying through the space where De Jais' head once was. De Jais looked down at the shaking man, having teleported to the other side of the bed to evade the attack. Tears soaked Mr. Therapist's face, and he shook violently in the bed.
"Em... ahhh... ahh..."
He shook in place for the next three minutes, not even looking at De Jais. The thief could almost see the tension leave his body as the memory of the nightmare was systematically erased from Mr. Therapist's mind, his eyes clouded from both tears and effect of his quirk. Eventually, though, his mouth curled into a familiar smile as he wiped his face clean.
"Oh wow, haha! I must have had a bad dream again! Sorry if I bothered you, Monsieur Black."
De Jais sighed, running a hand through his dirty hair.
"They're getting worse, sir. You took over three minutes to finish this time. Have you considered taking a break? You can't keep-"
"Maybe you're the one who should take a break, Paul. You're smoking more than usual - remembering something you don't want to? I can help."
Mr. Therapist's smile had vanished as he lashed out. De Jais looked away, doing his best to avoid showing any kind of reaction.
"Non. I don't remember. Just felt like getting lung cancer."
Mr. Therapist laughed loudly. The thief almost jumped from how unprompted it was.
"Hahahahahahaha, you're right! That was a good one. I probably should slow down, but I can't stop when people need me! Especially with the summit coming soon - have to look good for the people here before us, right? Who knows, maybe we'll make some friends!"
The villain looked down as he spoke, talking more to himself than De Jais at this point. The Thief had grown accustomed to this. His employer was crazy, but he owed the man a great deal. He'd stay by his side. At least until he broke himself playing the martyr.
"Whatever you say, Sir. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn. Bonne nuit."
De Jais turned, walking towards the door. The Therapist called out a final time.
"Good night, Paul. Don't forget to turn out the lights."
The man didn't respond, doing his best to ignore any hidden meaning the comment might have held. He didn't reach the door, melting into the shadows of the room. The Therapist smiled at the place where he once stood before falling back to his bed and closing his eyes. The birds around him stared down from their cages, more akin to figurines than living creatures.
The nightmares didn't bother him. Not really.
He didn't even remember them.