Quirk Wisdom

In downtown Kyoto, a block from the courthouse, stood an anonymous 6-story white stone building. There are no outward signs indicating what organization works in this building. If you went into the lobby uninvited, you’d be turned away by security with little explanation. The mystery of who owned this building was enough to entice some bored or paranoid individuals into launching an investigation.

When these intrepid investigators checked government records they found this building was being used by the Quirk Registration Service. 99% of inquiries ended there. Everyone knew what their responsibilities were.

The Quirk Registration Service (QRS) was, officially, responsible for cataloging the country’s quirks. A thankless job that surely involved a lot of data entry and dusty file rooms. The heavy security present in the building could easily be explained by this function. The government had a responsibility to keep knowledge of their citizens’ quirks out of villains’ hands. This was what the extreme majority of the population knew to be true about the QRS. This was what they were satisfied knowing.

The final 1% of investigators, those whose curiosity did not end at learning this building belonged to the QRS, were offered a grand tour the moment they called. The first floor was a lobby, a grandiose vault of polished stone and red pillars, some long-dead politician’s vanity project. The building’s security nerve center occupied this floor, hidden behind an unassuming polished oak reception desk.

Floors 2-4 were exactly what you’d expect. They were filled with rows upon rows of cubicles crammed next to each other. Each cubicle was occupied with a disinterested worker plugging away at their keyboards. These workers spent their days cataloging the country’s quirk assets. Some workers had the good fortune to receive the exciting assignment of determining who had naming priority in the rare case of a quirk name conflict.

Floor 5 was much the same as the previous 3 floors, only this one was dedicated to accounting and HR.

Floor 6 was much more luxurious. The floor held large conference rooms offering panoramic views of the Kyoto skyline, flanked by large corner offices and handsome secretaries in front of each door. These were the executive suites.

Five people had arrived at this stage of inquiry in the past year. Four of those noticed there was another floor listed among the elevator buttons. All four of these had inquired what that button led to. Their guide, laughing gently, had pressed the button. That final floor turned out to be the building’s underground parking garage. Three of these last four inquirers had sighed at the monumental waste of time they’d just been through and left the building without further complaint. One… hadn’t believed it was a waste of time.

One was never heard from again.

No one knew what happened to that one conspiracy nut who had refused to believe everything was on the up and up despite all evidence to the contrary. It was known he’d returned to the building in the dead of night. It was known that he used a keycard he’d palmed to affect entry. It was known he evaded security.

No one knew how he managed to figure out how to get to the level below the parking garage. The level that could only be reached by holding three elevator buttons for three seconds. The level which was only ever called ‘the Hospital.’

No one knew how far the man got. He definitely walked through the long sterile white hallway lined with heavy steel doors. Perhaps he spied some patients through their doors’ meal slits. Poor wretches wearing explosive collars, going about life as best they could in their furnished 3x3m cells. Perhaps he even saw the staff conducting treatment.

Perhaps… perhaps this poor fool walked to the end of the hall. Perhaps he dodged the roving doctors, nurses, patients, and orderlies. Perhaps he passed the last testing chamber and came to a simple wooden door. Maybe the poor wretch even opened that door.

If he had opened that wooden door, he would’ve found a cramped little office. The office was occupied by a single tan pine desk. The desk was overburdened with notebooks, binders and loose leaf paper. Its plywood legs bowed outwards, constantly on the verge of snapping. Behind the desk would’ve sat a horrible computer chair, upholstered in patchy carpet, two of its five wheels forever lost to the ages.

Perhaps, when the man had opened the door, that horrible little chair had been occupied. If it had, he would’ve seen a fat bald man with a waxed mustache look up from his desk.

The bald man would’ve smiled genially. The intruder would’ve begun to make a demand. He would’ve tried to ask one of the questions burning inside him! And then... he would’ve heard the word ‘please.’

If he had. It would’ve been the last word he’d heard as a free man.

That office, the one with the horrible chair, was occupied today, though that intruder had long since faded from memory. Today, the office was occupied by its owner, that horrible fat bald man capable of killing with two words, and a woman of terrible countenance.

Saraki smiled at the Councilwoman as she took a seat across from him. The woman was old. She wore gray hair and the expression of a drill sergeant. In her ears were earpieces that could be mistaken for a hearing aid. They were audio filters. They were support grade items that would replay Saraki’s voice into the Councilor’s ears, without risking exposure to his quirk. A legal requirement for anyone of sufficient influence. That rule was why Saraki wasn’t allowed on the 6th floor unannounced. In her hands, she held a small manila folder. Perhaps the file she’d try to bury Saraki with.

This woman was the new chair of the Quirk Registration Committee, Ao Kizawa and she had an agenda.

Kizawa’s eyes narrowed at Saraki’s smile. “This is not a social call Saraki.”

Saraki nodded graciously. “Of course not Kizawa-san.”

If Kizawa was ever on his social calendar he’d kill himself.

Kizawa studied him as if she were looking for a chink in his armor, some indication of his distaste. Something she could pounce on. As usual, Saraki was a steel facade of politeness. The very image of an ingratiating subordinate. Never mind that beneath the surface he couldn’t stop his mind from going to dark places.

He wondered how long it would take for him to condition Kizawa. Her quirk ‘Eagle Eyes’--

*--wasn’t dangerous enough for her to be remanded to his care. That didn’t matter to Saraki’s intrusive thoughts. No matter whom he met, he always found himself designing treatment plans. *

“I understand you’ve had a relapse,” Kizawa said.

Saraki nodded sadly. “Unfortunately. One of my graduated patients turned to a life of crime. We’re correcting the issue presently.”

In Kizawa’s case he’d start with the sensory deprivation tank. It’d give her poor eyes a break.

“Correcting?” Kizawa’s voice hardened.

The next step would depend on how she’d respond. Some mutant patients broke when denied their quirks for extended periods. However, Kizawa didn’t strike Saraki as the type easily broken.

“Her behavioral issues, which we identified at an early age, obviously weren’t adequately addressed. I will say her unimaginative use of her quirk has proven the effic--”

“Let me stop you right there.”

If the sensory deprivation tank wasn’t enough he’d have to try isolating her in a low-resolution environment. Easily done with some of the orderlies he’d hired.

“I understand this woman, one Konno-san, altered her DNA to avoid identification.”

“I’m afraid her motives for doing that is sheer speculation. However, the fact she kept her quirk despite a drastically altered DNA raises questions--”

“May we focus?”

After a few months in a low-resolution environment. After Kizawa’s brain had been trained off the use of her quirk.

“My question is, is it possible that she altered her DNA to avoid identification and recapture by the Quirk Registration Service? Is it possible she was profoundly tortured that mutilation was preferable to recapture?”

“Preposterous, this is a place of--”

The Healing could begin.

“--healing.”

“Preposterous is it?” Kizawa thumped the file in her hand. “I have here a very serious allegation from one of your doctors, involving a separate case. If these allegations are true, it sheds some light on Konna-san’s motivations.”

“Is the doctor Jozi-sensei?”

The file froze in Kizawa’s hand.

“Don’t look so surprised. I don’t have many cases even I find hard to stomach. Jozi-sensei had the misfortune of assisting me on one of our more complex cases. It’s no wonder he thought me a barbarian.”

Saraki nodded towards the file.

“The girl described in that file is one Mari Takanata. Her quirk is known as Absolute Zero. It’s a marvelous Ice quirk, possibly the strongest on record. Unfortunately, her quirk’s name is barely an exaggeration. The ‘ice’ she produced possessed a temperature of less than one billionth of one Kelvin (1K). Exposing an area to temperatures that low is extraordinarily deadly, which is why we endeavoured to get the temperature of her ice up.”

“I’m pleased to say we’ve been successful as far as she’s concerned. We’ve managed to bring her ice’s temperature to ~100K. I hope to get her to 200K before the end of the year. At which point, she’ll be ready to return to her family.”

“… is that why you’ve been putting the girl in an oven? To get her ice warmer?!”

Saraki sighed. The hope was that by raising the girl’s core temperature her ice’s temperature would rubber band along with her core. It had. They were further fortunate that her quirk factor could be trained to accept the new temperature as her new ‘normal.’ When her core temperature was reduced from 313K back to her normal 310K, her ice stayed 3K warmer. It just took time. He was very fond of that particular treatment plan.

“Kizawa-san, please, that’s hyperbole. It is true that raising her core temperature and having her produce ice for us, is her treatment plan, but we don’t stick the girl in an oven. We keep her core temperature below the threshold for heat stroke at all times. Her vitals are constantly monitored, and if any of my staff raise concerns, her treatment is immediately ceased for the day. After all, her safety is our number one priority.”

It’d also be over already if Saraki had chosen to risk heat stroke. Watching Mari’s ice temperature spike was a simple joy he didn’t look forward to losing. He’d be sad to see her go.

“Is it?” Kizawa asked icily.

“No,” Saraki confessed. “Making sure she doesn’t hurt other people is our number one priority. I’m just glad we’ve been able to… minimize her issue without resorting to more drastic measures.”

Kizawa ignored the mention of ‘drastic measures.’ THOSE were already approved by the Quirk Safety Committee on a case-by-case basis. Suited Saraki just fine. He never liked terminating a patient. Termination meant a quirk had beaten him.

Kizawa frowned and she asked a question she’d wanted to ask when she first learned of Saraki’s existence. “Why don’t you just use your quirk to ‘request’ she stop using hers? Wouldn’t that be the end of it?”

‘...and you think I’m a monster.’

“That doesn’t work.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s fascinating really. While there are people who’ve chosen to never use their quirk, I can’t request that they never use their quirk. The mind refuses to process it in the same way it does my other requests.”

“…”

The room was silent for a long moment as Kizawa struggled with whether to ask the question they both knew she wanted to ask. ‘Why?’

Saraki knew the answer.

Kizawa rose abruptly. She didn’t want to know. She was scared to know.

She shouldn’t be, there’s nothing scary about the truth.

“I want a detailed treatment plan for every single one of your patients forwarded to my office by the close of business on Friday.” She turned to leave.

“A moment!” Saraki reached into his desk. A long disused drawer squeaked in pain as it slid open. He pulled out a small stack of folders and held them towards Kizawa.

Kizawa gaped at the files.

Saraki smiled.

The truth was: his quirk, like many communication and command quirks, relied on other quirks to convey his requests. A quirk couldn’t understand the command to cease function while it was functioning to convey a message. That was all there was to it.

“I anticipated your line of inquiry. Fortunately, we only have 7 patients being treated in this facility at the moment, so it was simple to gather the details for you. If you wish to see all the cases we’ve handled in my tenure, that can be on your desk by Friday Morning.”

Saraki smiled.

Unless of course, Kizawa didn’t know quirks were alive. Some DID find that part terrifying.

Kizawa did not return his smile. She snatched the files from Saraki’s desk and stormed out of the office. The door slammed behind her.

Saraki leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh. Kizawa wasn’t going to let him be. She thought he was a monster. She thought he needed to be stopped. He was going to have to deal with her.

Saraki reached into his desk and grabbed a phone. It was an ugly plastic thing. A burner phone he kept for just such a call. He dialed a familiar number.

The phone rang twice before a voice answered. “Yes?”

“Can you send a pizza to Takara Satori?”

“Hold on… yes, I see we have his information on file. Do you want it delivered or would you like to treat him to a night out?”

“White gloves please.”

“It would be my pleasure. Please note this will be the last of your gift card’s remaining balance. If you have anyone else you’d like to treat, please pursue business through our normal channels.”

Saraki frowned at that. Was this all he was owed? He’d been promised 5 jobs on the house in exchange for that trifling prison break.

There was that Russian, Yuri something or other, who wanted to expose Saraki’s involvement in that old unpleasantness to the Committee in exchange for… immunity? Asylum? He wasn’t exactly sure. It hadn’t mattered. Yuri had to die.

Then there was Jun Takanata. He’d threatened to go to the public over Mari’s treatment. That order had been refused at first, but Saraki had been happy to call it a day with a simple ‘intimidation’ modification. Sometimes he wondered what Jun was told to make him back off. … Perhaps, knowing the man on the phone, he was promised something instead.

There was that vigilante in Tokyo, Nakagawa Usagi. She was a former patient. Her quirk allowed her to absorb the ‘luck’ of others. She’d relapsed and was impossible to bring in alive. Normally Saraki would’ve asked the Enforcers to handle her, but Owari had been preoccupied with that pile of shit she called a son. He’d no choice but to call in yet another favor.

Then there was the previous chairman of the committee… okay, this was the fifth name. But, that didn’t change Saraki’s mind. It needed to be done.

Takara Satori was Kizawa’s top aide. He ran her office. He’d been a close confidant for years. He was also having an affair with her husband. A fact Kizawa had just recently discovered. A fact that Saraki had known for the better part of a year. If Takara was killed and it was made plain he’d been killed by a professional, Kizawa would naturally be suspected. Hopefully, she would be too busy fending off accusations and scandal to make herself a nuisance again.

Perhaps, Saraki reflected, this would prove a more permanent solution than just killing every Committee Chairman who didn’t approve of his methods.

“I understand.” Saraki finally answered.

“Excellent.” The voice of the most dangerous assassin on the planet purred.

The line went dead.