Frame

Tanaka’s Scrap was alive with flashing lights, police, paramedics, and heroes. Dozens of emergency vehicles flooded the scrapyard, disgorging nearly a hundred personnel. Some scoured the property for one of the most wanted men in the World. Others interviewed the survivors of the recent ordeal. While an appallingly British doctor attended to a familiar young man.

Christopher hissed at the cool touch of the Doctor’s hands. He sat on the rear bumper of an ambulance; its lights still flashed that painfully familiar blue glow. His shirt and coat were folded to the side. The old Brit frowned as he traced the lines of his patient’s shattered rib. He seemed surprised.

“He got you right on 9’s Costochondral joint.” The Doctor reported. “Completely separated the bone from the cartilage. The good news is: that it’s the best place to get a break. The better news is it’s CLEAN. I don’t think I would’ve been cleaner with a scalpel.”

“How long am I out for?” Chris asked. He feared it’d be a while; breathing was agony. It reminded him of… the last time. At least he’d helped save a life, even if it was mostly luck.

“When I’m done? Not a wink.”  

“Really?” Christopher questioned dumbly. He’d been out almost a week the last time he fought Desolator.

“Last time, I healed a borked sternum,” The Doctor answered as if he read Christopher’s mind. “and a ruptured kidney, and… you don’t want an inventory?”

Christopher shook his head.  

“My point is, that was a year’s recovery in a few days. This? This is clean. It’d be maybe a month if you were a cunt about staying in bed. Now stay still.”

The Doctor placed his hands upon the broken bone. He closed his eyes. Warmth flooded Christopher’s side. Cartilage grew. A bone set. A boy winced. It was done.

Christopher opened his eyes hesitantly. The Doctor nodded with a smile. The boy took a deep breath. His lungs expanded. It didn’t hurt. He smiled. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, lad.”

“He good?”

Christopher looked up. A middle-aged man with messy black hair, a trenchcoat, a sword at his side, and a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth peered over the Doctor’s shoulder. It was Ryusei.

“Ryusei?” Christopher ventured. That couldn’t be him. It’d only been 30 minutes since Desolator’d gotten away. He didn’t have a car. “When’d you get here?” Christopher’s eyes widened. “And how’s Hifumi--”

“Sorry to interrupt.” The Doctor interrupted. “But this sounds like the beginning of a long conversation, and you’re fine now. Can you get off my ambulance?”

Christopher colored. With a soft ‘sorry,’ he hopped off the ambulance and walked towards Ryusei.  

“Qa4.” The Doctor whispered as Christopher passed. Christopher closed his eyes.

He had to do Be8, or it was mate in 1. The Doctor would do Qa8+. Kd7 was the only legal move. ...Then Qxb7#…

He could do Bd6… then Qa8+, Kc7, Qa5+, b6, Qa7+, Kc8, Ba6#.

“Damn,” Christopher muttered. No matter where he turned, the answer was the same. Checkmate. He had played the Doctor in chess since Kaylee’d been in the Hospital. He’d even won a few games as white, but he’d never won as black. Today was no different. That first move made all the difference.

“e4.” Christopher answered, implicitly conceding the last game.  

The Doctor smiled as Christopher joined Ryusei. The two walked away from the ambulance to give the emergency workers room to work. Christopher looked at his mentor. He hadn’t told him how Hifumi was doing. “How’s--”

“What was that?” Ryusei interrupted.

“A chess game.”

“In your head?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Did you win?”

“No.”

“Oh... Anyway, you didn’t answer my question: are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Christopher bit. “but how’s Hifumi?”

“Challenger? It was just overexertion. They sent him home to rest.”

“That’s a relief.” No one had gotten seriously injured for once. No Hospital visits. No guilt.

Smokin’ Sexy frowned as he watched the milling uniformed personnel. Christopher followed his gaze. He guessed why his teacher was frowning. There was nowhere to help. Everywhere Christopher looked was occupied by either a hero or an emergency worker. Just as well… Christopher wanted to follow Hifumi’s example and get some rest. Today had been… tiring.

“What happened?” Ryusei asked. He didn’t look at Christopher.  

“With Satori? Desolator killed him, but his quirk manifested. One-time resurrection quirk… which is weird come to think of it, I didn’t think quirks could function after physical death--”

“No, I got briefed on Satori.” Ryusei sighed. “What happened with Desolator?”

Christopher frowned. “After he shot Satori, I captured his accomplice, Agent Suzuki. I set Hitomi on pursuit while I secured Suzuki. After I was done, Desolator’d already evaded Hitomi, but his eyes were up. From our prior encounters, I guess he thought I’d be in an elevated position. So… I tried to take advantage of the opening. He dodged and then…” Christopher gestured to his side.  

“Did he fake the opening?”

“… I don’t think so. He’s... a lot better than me,” Those words burned Christopher’s tongue. “but I’m pretty sure he was on guard.”

“You used Battojutsu?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

---

Because I know you. Ryusei thought bitterly. Bitter because he was thoroughly confused. He wouldn’t have sent Chris with Impakt if he didn’t think the boy could take Desolator under the right circumstances. He’d thought he knew Desolator’s limits from his encounter with the Five alongside Rosethorn.

Rosethorn had begun that charge from 3 meters away, and Desolator couldn’t respond to her in time. Chris’s Battojutsu from up to 2 meters away should be just as fast. If Chris had begun that strike before Desolator noticed him, it should’ve been impossible for him to dodge. Unless the villain had somehow gotten faster in the last 3 months.

“Was there anything different about him?”

“… I don’t think he still has a prosthetic.”

“What?!”

“He was faster than before. And the way he dodged Hitomi… I don’t think you can do a pop-up slide with a prosthetic.”

“A Healing Quirk?” Ryusei whispered.

“I’ve never heard of someone being able to regrow a limb like that, but I just saw a Resurrection quirk. I guess anything’s possible.” Chris sighed. “Desolator’d be able to afford it anyway. Just like he could afford that makeup to make himself look younger. It didn’t run our entire fight, even with the blood pouring over his face.”

“Blood?”

“Hitomi got him on the scalp.” Chris shuddered. There was a detail in there that Christopher wasn’t willing to share. Maybe how little blood running down his face bothered someone with Desolator’s experience. Ryusei knew that feeling. The feeling of staring down someone with a horrific injury and him… not caring.

Ryusei changed the subject.

“Where IS Hitomi anyway?”

“Out helping with the search.” Chris waved his hand vaguely towards the south.

“You don’t sound confident that’ll make a difference.”

“I’m not,” Chris grumbled. “If we haven’t found him yet, it’s because he’s gone.”

Ryusei frowned. Chris must be kicking himself for letting Desolator get away. He shouldn’t. Ryusei was the one who’d been wrong. If he’d evaluated Desolator competently, he would’ve told Chris to keep his distance.

“You—”

“Uh.” A timid voice came from Ryusei’s right, interrupting his attempt to comfort his ward. He turned. Satori stood between two indistinguishable Hero Agents (Ryusei arbitrarily labeled them Agents 1&2). Impakt loomed behind the trio.

Satori looked good for a man who’d been dead a few minutes ago. You’d never know it, looking at his face. He was a little paler, but there wasn’t any blood visible. His clothes still looked the same, with no stains. Maybe there’d be a thin trickle of blood down the back of his head. Maybe there’d be a dot on his shirt’s collar. If so, Ryusei couldn’t see it.

Satori was looking at Chris. His face was a mask of conflicting emotions like he wasn’t sure how he felt. Like he hadn’t processed the fact he’d come back from the dead. Ryusei hoped the man didn’t remember being shot…. “Mirror Devil-san, I just wanted to say ‘thank you,’ thank you for… saving me.”

“Your quirk did that.” Chris shrugged. He seemed unbothered by the fact this man had come back from the dead. If anything, he seemed a little giddy. “But you’re welcome nonetheless. What’s next for you?”

Agent 1 answered. “We’ll be taking Satori-san to the airport.”

“You’ll understand we can’t disclose where he’ll be relocated to.” Agent 2 added.

Ryusei’s eyes narrowed. He wasn't comfortable handing Satori over to a pair of HA agents again. “Given your recent track record--”

“I’ll be accompanying them this time.” Impakt added sternly. The agents simultaneously harumphed a bitter harumph but said nothing.
Ryusei relaxed at that. Cool. He didn’t have to do anything then.

“Also…” Agent 1 continued. There it is… “While your Agency will receive compensation for protecting Satori-san’s life. We ask that you keep the fact that Satori-san survived…”

“Confidential.” Agent 2 finished.

Oh? Ryusei just had to avoid taking credit for it? That was easy. No one would give him credit anyway.

“Of course,” Chris answered without thinking. Ryusei rolled his eyes. That’s not just our decision Chris. He silently chided. He looked at Impakt.

“That cool with you Impakt?”

“Ja.”

“Then I’m good. Want it in writing?” Of course, they would. The HA loved paperwork.

“… no.” Agent 1 answered.  

Ryusei raised an eyebrow. The HA loved paperwork. Maybe they didn’t want it one file because... they didn’t know how compromised they were. That was the only reason Ryusei could think of anyway. This meant every poor bastard in Witsec was probably getting a very inconvenient call soon.
“We’re finished here.” Agent 2 concluded.

“Satori-san, if you’ll come with us--”

“Uh…” Satori added. He looked at Mirror Devil. His mouth was working, but the words didn’t come. He was probably trying to say thanks again, but once had already been too much for someone like Satori.

---

Satori was about to ask if Mirror Devil could be assigned as his escort to the airport. The young man had been the one to save him after all. Both here and earlier on the street (even if being swallowed by an Oni head would stick with Satori for the rest of his life). But, before he could ask, the words died in Satori’s throat.

How childish was it to ask a child to protect you? Satori couldn’t do it. He still had something resembling pride left in him. That pride drove him to express gratitude in as condescending a manner as possible.

He’d hate himself for it later.

---

Eventually, Satori smiled. “Guess heroes aren’t all bad.”

To Ryusei’s surprise, Chris smiled. “Thanks.”

Satori averted his eyes and walked away in a random direction. Agent 2 grabbed Satori’s collar and redirected him towards a waiting blue sedan. Satori, embarrassed, let Agent 2 lead him with Agent 1 close behind. Impakt turned to follow and smiled at Ryusei.

“It was a pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

Chris watched the car drive away. Ryusei watched him. The boy seemed… almost content. Like he knew what he needed to do next. It was an eerie look on Chris. When the car was out of sight, he looked at Ryusei. “Ready to head out?”

---

Desolator stalked the ruined streets of a forgotten city. His rifle was held at the ready. He was looking for someone.

“D-Desolator.” He heard from his right. Desolater whirled to his right, his rifle at the ready. He saw a pile of rubble.

“Des, please.” Desolator dropped his rifle and ran over to the rubble. He cleared it with his bare hands. He didn’t know how long he worked at the debris. It could’ve been minutes. It could’ve been hours. His hands bled as he tossed rubble over his shoulder. He didn’t care. If he was under--
He saw a hint of gold between the rocks.  

Desolator redoubled his efforts. Digging, scrapping, clawing, desperate to get under the rubble, to--

He found a desiccated corpse. It looked like the life had been drained out of him. He was wearing an all too familiar costume. He’d been dead for hours. Desolator slumped.  

He was dead. The voice… the voice calling for him must’ve been his imagination. Maybe his subconscious had noticed something. Maybe he was just crazy. It didn’t matter. He sat down, atop the rubble. He pulled out a cigarette. He placed it between his lips.

He reached for his lighter.

Desolator’s hand trembled as he placed his thumb on the spark wheel.  

Desolator ignited the flame. Orange light illuminated his face. His eyes were watering. He’d… thought the dead man would be the one to finally catch him.

Desolator lifted his thumb. The flame extinguished. He tossed the lighter and the cigarette both to the ground and pulled out a flare.

---

A thump woke Desolator. He was in the trunk of a car. He held his gun across his chest. He waited. Another thump resounded across the trunk’s roof, followed by a light rap. Desolator pointed his gun at the trunk’s opening. He reached up with his left hand and pulled the trunk’s inner latch. The trunk popped open and he saw the tired face of Fujisawa.

Fujisawa was a dark-haired Japanese man with the perpetually exhausted face of a salaryman. There was a faded scar over his Adam’s apple. He was a respected smuggler, probably the most respected in Kyoto, and Desolator’s second choice for extraction.

Desolator pointed his gun at Fujisawa.

Fujisawa didn’t flinch.

Desolator swept his eyes around Fujisawa. It was night, probably around 2000 if he had to guess. They were on the riverfront. The faint smell of water permeated the air. It was the middle of the night, long past when the police would’ve assumed he’d slipped their net. There was no one else here. Good. Fujisawa still had enough sense to not break his word.  

Desolator crawled out of the trunk.

Fujisawa held out a hand. Desolator reached into his pocket and handed the man a wad of 10,000¥ bills.  

Fujisawa took the bills without counting them. He got into his car and drove away without a word. That was fine with Desolator. Half the reason Fujisawa was so trusted was because the man was deaf and mute.

As Desolator watched Fujisawa’s red brake lights disappear into the night. He couldn’t help but remember the red eyes of that dragon construct baring down on him. That horrid monstrosity the boy had conjured…. It would’ve had him a month ago. The boy’s strike too… it would’ve hit.

Desolator smiled. He wanted a cigarette.

---

Christopher Cain walked into his long-disused room. It was exactly as he left it last Sunday. Hitomi flitted about his head like a worried mother. Christopher ignored her. He was on the phone. He was talking to a dearly missed girl.

“I promise you, I’m fine.”  

“You’re not just saying that right?” Faith quivered. “I can be back tomorrow.”

“I did get hurt,” Christopher reported. “But the Doctor healed me and tomorrow’s my day off anyway.”

“Okay…” Faith didn’t sound convinced.

Christopher sat on his bed. “Listen, it’s only a couple weeks before you’re back.”

“I know.” Faith sighed. “I just miss you and hearing you fought Desolator AGAIN…” the memory of Christopher’s extended stay in the Hospital hung heavily in her words. “you can’t blame me right?”

“I can’t.” Christopher agreed. If Faith had been in a similar situation he probably wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to call ahead.

Hitomi settled on Christopher’s lap and grinned up at him. Christopher ignored her.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Every bone’s intact,” Christopher assured her. “When you get back you can check for yourself--” CLICK “… hello?” The soft dial tone of an ended call greeted him. “Was it something I said?”

Hitomi burst out laughing.

“What?!” Christopher thundered completely perplexed. Hitomi didn’t answer. She was so overcome by whatever she found so funny that she rolled off Christopher’s lap. She slammed into the floor head-first.

“Hitomi?!” Christopher crouched next to the little black dragon. Hitomi cradled the back of her head. A cartoonishly large goose egg formed on the back of her tiny skull. Tears formed in the corner of her eye.

“Are you okay?” Christopher asked gently. He reached for her. His hands brushed against a cardboard box hidden under his bed. … what was that? He ignored it for now and scooped Hitomi into his arms. She cradled the back of her head.  

Christopher laid her on the bed gently. “Do you need some ice?”

Hitomi shook her head. She rubbed the back of her head gingerly. There were no more tears in her eyes, and the swelling already seemed to be going down. Christopher sighed. He stayed by Hitomi’s side as she languished.

Christopher didn’t know what to do. Could she even feel pain? Was this just some elaborate prank? But… she had hit the floor awful hard. Maybe that was enough to actually hurt her. Uncertain what to do, Christopher found his mind turning towards that cardboard box. What was that again? He couldn’t remember putting anything under his bed.

The thought tortured Christopher until he could take it no longer. He checked Hitomi one last time. She seemed to be doing better. She’d manifested a little ice pack and put it over the back of her head. She closed her eyes. Christopher reached under his bed.

The dragon smiled.

Christopher pulled out the box. He blinked. It was his mother’s box. The one his dad had retrieved from his grandmother. Christopher looked at the shelf with the binders. He was certain he’d put it on top of that shelf!

It wasn’t there.

Hitomi rolled away.

Christopher looked back at the box. His fingers were already wrapped around the tape’s edge. He hesitated. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t remember why he didn’t look when his dad first got this. He just remembered feeling... terrible.

“Hi.” Christopher found himself saying. It was like when he used to talk to her picture in that little shrine next to the door. “I… I…” The words died in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know her,--

Hitomi opened her eyes.

--but he wanted to.

Christopher opened the box. The contents were… distractingly mundane. There were several UA yearbooks. A heart-shaped frame with a picture of Endeavor in it. A diary… Christopher put that to the side. And… near the bottom… was a picture set in a black frame. When Christopher picked the picture up, his breath caught.

There his mother stood, a wide grin on her face. Her right hand extended outwards, holding the camera. Her left arm was wrapped around the shoulders of a bewildered-looking bald man with dark sunglasses. A man Christopher recognized.  

It was Dr. Saraki. Before Christopher could process what he saw, a piece of paper fell from the back of the frame and settled on the floor. Christopher’s eyes widened.