The Monster’s Aid

Dr. Saraki, Head of Research of the Quirk Registration Service, looked at a photo the size of a postcard. That photo preserved the moment his magnum opus ended. It showed graduation of the most fascinating case he’d ever encountered. Displayed in that photo in faded colors, a much younger Saraki was accosted by a young woman with burnt brown eyes. She grinned like an idiot as she often did. She hadn’t even given Saraki the courtesy of a warning before she’d pulled him into a selfie.

The girl was Hitomi Hideyoshi. She’d go on to become the hero Miracle. Saraki studied the joy on Hitomi’s face. It was a genuine joy. However, it wasn’t the only emotion her eyes betrayed. Beneath that joy, visible only to those who really knew her, was apprehension. Her face was not the face of one saying goodbye to a doctor. It was the face of someone worried she’d never see her father again. That was how she’d thought of him, as a father. He’d seen her as a daughter until she graduated.

When Hitomi’s treatment was finished, Saraki found himself devoid of those feelings of fondness he’d once had. He tried to feign affection at her graduation, but she saw through him. Perhaps this stupid selfie was an attempt to rekindle Saraki’s affection. It didn’t work. She was treated. He was done with her.

This photo represented nothing more than Hitomi’s insane desire to hold onto a relationship past its expiration date.

Saraki closed his eyes. He could still remember the moment he diagnosed her problem. It was a happy memory. He’d given up on her. He’d decided a quirk had beaten him, and the only choice was to order her liquidation. He grinned. If he’d formed that thought differently if he’d thought ‘her quirk’ or ‘the girl’s quirk,’ she would’ve been killed, and he would’ve lost.

But, he hadn’t. He’d thought ‘a’ and from there—

A phone rang. Saraki wiped away a pile of papers. He revealed an old rotary phone. He wrapped his hand around the receiver only to pause when he didn’t feel the telltale vibrations of its bell ringing. He blinked. A phone rang.

“Ah.” Saraki reached into his coat pocket and retrieved an inconspicuous flip phone. It rang relentlessly, and the number was displayed as ‘unknown.’ Saraki didn’t need a caller ID to know who was calling. Only one person had this number. He opened the phone.

“Desolator.”

“It’s done.”

“So I’ve heard,” Saraki purred. He got confirmation of Satori’s death a few hours ago. No one had seen a body, but that didn’t matter. Officially, Satori was dead. Poor Kizawa had to answer some uncomfortable questions and that'd keep her off his back indefinitely. “and your friend Suzuki?”

“Captured. There were complications.”

“Complications," Saraki clicked his tongue. That was unfortunate. “Such as?”

“That brat I told you about, Mirror Devil—”

“Miracle’s son.” Saraki finished, looking at the photo clutched between two fingers. What are the odds?

“Yes. The brat unfortunately captured Suzuki.”

“What did you tell Suzuki?” Saraki’s voice hardened. His pleases may not work on Desolator, but there were—

“That a politician wanted Satori dead.”

Saraki relaxed. He should’ve known better. Desolator would guess his intentions and feed a possible liability a lie that would serve his client. “Very good, I do believe that clears your debt.”

“It does. If you require our services—”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Understood.”

CLICK

Saraki hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. He pondered Suzuki’s capture. Did he need to handle Suzuki? He’d never met the man. He was Desolator’s hire. But, he had agreed to provide Suzuki with a life extension quirk at Desolator’s request. That payment was unique enough that an investigator may come to ask uncomfortable questions. It was likely that Saraki would be questioned as an expert on the possibility of granting quirks rather than as the actual culprit. Still….

Saraki frowned. Even being questioned about the specifics of quirk bestowal felt too close. He might be better off killing Suzuki after all. But how? He could ask an inmate to handle it, though Suzuki would be in PC by now. An agent? Possibly, but if the agent confessed to meeting Saraki it’d be over. Hrm, one of his patients? Ah.

Saraki smiled. He touched a button on his lapel. He was fortunate that Cain had recaptured that girl for him. “Dr. Monosuke?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you see that Konno-san is brought out of sedation?”

---

Ide Suzuki, a former Hero Association Agent, sat at a steel table. He was in an interrogation room. His hands were cuffed to a metal bar welded to the table's center. The cuffs chaffed against his wrinkled skin. He sighed. He’d get used to them. Even if he accepted a plea bargain, he’d never get out. He was too old. He looked ahead. He looked into the pitiless black sheen of the one-way mirror. The face of an ancient fuck stared back at him.

Ide should’ve retired a decade ago, but his quirk—

—was too valuable an asset to the Hero Association for them to force his retirement. Suzuki hadn’t exactly fought to retire either. Not before Desolator offered him that package….

The door to interrogation popped open. A young woman with bright brown eyes and dark hair tied in a bun strolled through, a thin envelope tucked under her arm. Ide recognized her, they’d met at an office Christmas party 3 years ago. She was Tomoki-san, one of Internal Affair’s sharks.

“Suzuki-san,” Tomoki nodded as she sat down. “I’m—”

“We’ve met.”

“Ah,” Tomoki muttered, she clearly didn’t recall. Ide wasn’t surprised, their meeting had been little more than an introduction. Without his quirk, Ide wouldn’t remember her either.

“Well, I assume you know why you’re here.”

Ide sighed. “Can we skip the preamble? We both know I’m up shit creek.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Excuse me?” Ide raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s just see where this goes.” Tomoki grinned. There was something hungry in that grin. She smelled a bigger fish. “First, what happened to the real Seki?”

“He’s in Hawaii with his new wife, working on their first kid I’d bet.” Suzuki smiled. Neither he nor Desolator had wanted to see the kid hurt. “He didn’t know anything about this. I never even met him. I canceled his vacation for him the day before he was supposed to go and made sure he didn’t hear about it.”

Tomoki nodded as if she knew this already. She probably did. Rule 1 of interrogation, know the answer to your first question—

“Were you under duress?”

—and your second.

“No.” Suzuki shrugged. No point in lying, even if he had been under duress he had too many opportunities to seek aid. He would’ve been expected to at least try to avoid full liability.

“Well, I’m going to ask the central question then, why’d you do it?”

“Too good of an offer to pass on.”

“What were you offered?” Tomoki prodded, an edge of iron creeping into her voice.

Suzuki’s eyes narrowed. So this was it. She had some idea of what his compensation package looked like. A new quirk was unique enough that it’d probably narrow Desolator’s potential employers to one or maybe two people. He hadn’t thought of that….

Suzuki smiled. He was sitting on better information than he thought.

“Memory’s fuzzy.” Suzuki lied. “Maybe if a prosecutor was—”

“There’s not going to be a deal. There’s not even a case.” Tomoki interrupted. Her eyes were granite.

A chill ran up Suzuki’s spine. ‘They wouldn’t!’ Tomoki continued.

“We believe the HA is compromised on a fundamental level. In the interest of cleaning house, the higher-ups have decided you’re not going to be charged with attempted murder.” Suzuki’s eyes widened. ‘They would.’ “You’re going to be charged as a Disaster.”

Suzuki’s stomach dropped. Ever since the Disaster Response Bill of 21XX, the waning days of the warlords, being charged as a Disaster resulted in the forfeiture of civil rights. It was only supposed to apply to S-Rank threats, but there were always exceptions to the rule. Apparently, Suzuki had just received that dubious honor. Now that he was a Disaster; Tomoki could bring in the pliers and blow torches right now. Whatever he said under torture would still be admissible in trial if he got one. Forget a cell, he could be put in an oubliette. She could even kill him.

“If you tell me everything you know.” Tomoki continued after Suzuki finished digesting how dire his circumstances were. “I’ll see to it you’re only charged with attempted murder. Then MAYBE we can talk deal.”

Suzuki didn’t hesitate. “A cozy retirement on a tropical paradise and a—” He stopped. His head hurt. It felt like he was being split open. He leaned forward.

“Suzuki-san?”

It hurt.

He tried to scream.

All that came out was a groan.

The world split open in a field of white blinding pain.

“I NEED HELP!!!” Tomoki shouted. It was too late. Suzuki knew it. For a blissful moment, the pain evaporated as something in his head finally snapped. Blissful warmth flooded his skull. The world of white went dark. His head hit the table.

---

Saraki loomed over a crying woman. She was a petite young lady. She was in a hospital bed. A paralytic flowed into her veins from an attached IV. Tears flowed in rivulets as she stared at the picture of Suzuki that Saraki put on her bed.

“Tonna-san, it’s good to see you’re awake—”

“Please—” She muttered weakly.

“—this is a picture of Suzuki-san.”

“—don’t.” She pleaded.

“Please set Suzuki-san’s lifespan to 0.”

Tonna closed her eyes without hesitation. She wept.

Saraki smiled.

“Thank you, Tonna-san, I’ll let you get back to sleep now.”

“Kill me.” Tonna was a gentle soul. She’d gone so far as to risk genetic disorders to escape Saraki’s ‘favors.’ She hated killing. It was too bad she was so mentally weak. She was a superb killer.

“Don’t despair, I’m sure you’ll earn my trust again soon enough and this will be a bad memory.” Saraki lied. At those words, he grabbed Suzuki's photo and he turned her other IV on again. Tonna drifted back to sleep.

Saraki left the room. He came into that long white hallway that was the last sight of so many unfortunates with a destructive quirk. He came upon an elderly man with a face like a raisin waiting outside Tonna’s room. This was Dr. Monosuke, Saraki’s assistant.

“Did anyone try to visit Konna while I was in?” Saraki began to walk down the hall. Monosuke followed close behind.

“Per your instructions, I’m the only member of the night shift assigned to her.”

“Hrm, did anyone walk past?”

“No, you were sufficiently quick.”

“Good.” He really didn’t need word getting out on just what Tonna could do. It’d lead to a plethora of annoying questions. Worst came to worst, he might be forced to terminate her. “Any calls while I was occupied?”

“Yes. A Christopher Cain.” Saraki stopped walking. That’s right! He’d given Cain his phone number some months ago. He hadn’t really expected the boy to call. He probably wouldn’t have given Cain his number if he thought the boy might use it. He suddenly felt that infernal photo of himself and Hitomi in his coat pocket. Why had he pocketed it? He didn’t know. Hitomi just kept coming up today. It was rather annoying.

“What did he want?”

“He asked if we treated his mother.”

“Hrm.” Saraki had met the boy twice before. Cain… didn’t seem to know much about Hitomi. Which was odd. Hitomi was an oversharer if anything. Surely she’d have told Cain about her own struggles and the man who helped her. But perhaps the memory of him was too painful to recall after he cut ties with her. His mind wandered back to the picture in his pocket, to the look in Hitomi’s eyes on the day of her graduation. Two years later she’d invite him to her wedding. She’d wanted him to walk her down the aisle. She really had loved him….

“What did you tell him?”

“That I can’t discuss treatment or lack of treatment and that he should try to get in touch with you at a later date.”

Saraki sighed. He didn’t want to talk to Cain. There was nothing he really wanted to learn from the boy. Quirk Mimicry used to be fascinating but he’d solved it years ago. The only unique thing about Cain’s was the fact he could copy two quirks at once, but Saraki already had a good guess for why that might be.

Still… maybe it’d be nice to get confirmation that the two quirks were Hitomi’s fault. The conversation might not be Hell after all.

“Thank you, Dr. Monosuke.”

“Of course, Dr. Saraki.”