He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows. The thought hammered in my head. Maybe he also knows about the organization? And would he sell me out to them for a large sum of money? I need to kill him. He is dangerous. No, first interrogate him, then kill him. Here? No, his associates or allies could be nearby, or there could be inconvenient witnesses. Wait until he leaves, follow him, capture him, and interrogate him. Then definitely kill him. No one must know about my past, so that the organization cannot find me. Yes, no one must know, no one must know, no one must know, no one must know. Everyone who knows must die.
I quickly suppressed the rising panic and the thirst for blood along with these foolish thoughts. I tried to keep my face indifferent. Of course, Giran reads me like an open book even with this face, but I am not keeping an indifferent face for him. I hate my weaknesses, and showing my true emotions when making deals with people like him is a glaring weakness. Being weak, given my goals, means death. So I must learn to hide my intentions behind various masks. Even if I failed to hide them this time and last time, I will succeed next time. Did not succeed? Try again.
Besides, killing the broker is an extremely stupid idea. I still need him. And an interrogation on my part would ruin everything. Looking directly into Giran's eyes, I said:
"Fine. What needs to be taken? And tell me the time frame."
"The other day, the cops and heroes detained a smuggler. I do not care about him, really, and he should have known the risks of his profession. But the goods he was carrying are very important to my acquaintance. They are quite rare medical drugs and narcotics. They are currently in that police station. Where they might be located and the layout of the building, I will send them to your email, as a favor. You have a day or two. The drugs themselves are extremely temperamental, and their shelf life is short. Bring them to the usual place."
The broker finished and took a drag from a new cigarette. After waiting a second, expecting a possible continuation, I stood up.
"Well, since I do not have much time, I will go."
"Good luck, Ken kun. Do not worry about the reward. The information is accurate."
He could not see it because my back was turned, but a mad smile appeared on my face for an instant.
Arriving at my hideout, a small structure on one of the rooftops, because storing certain things in a rented apartment would be stupid, I began to put on the costume I use for such jobs. Gloves, boots with steel toes, top and bottom with weak protective qualities that did not restrict movement, knives hidden in the costume, a holster with a SIG Sauer P226 pistol, and a dark mask with a wide red smile and eye holes. The rest of the costume was also dark in color.
While putting it all on, I tried to suppress my impatience and the jumble of thoughts. Expecting that after spending several months as a test subject I would only have claustrophobia out of all my mental problems was naive of me. I realized this when, instead of running away from possible opponents like villains or thugs, I started killing them.
It would seem that with my Quirk, I just need to grab what I need and slip through a wall or the ground using "Choice." So why fight and even kill? I asked myself this question and answered it myself. The desire to prove my strength, my superiority. At the expense of others. A rather petty, selfish, and immoral desire, ordinary people would say. And I would even agree. Because I never became confident in myself.
The nightmares, the fear, and the panic had been with me ever since the first experiment performed on me. They dulled and slightly faded during my time in the white cell. Despair and resignation made me apathetic. But after my escape, they returned with renewed strength. The fear that on a certain day my Quirk would simply disappear, as suddenly as it had appeared, still suffocates me. That I would become useless again, helpless, a second class citizen. I want to be strong, to be confident in myself and my abilities. But doubts grip my heart with a cold grip. It is as if another, smaller me is speaking in a nasal, confident tone:
*"All your strength is the result of your Quirk. Without it, you would not be free. Without it, you are nothing. Just a pathetic piece of cattle in the hands of the strong."*
This drove and still drives me insane. I wanted to pour out my indignation, my fears, my hatred on my enemies. To prove to myself that I am strong, both with my Quirk and without. And how can I do that without comparing myself to others? Sparring with my trainer without using my Quirk helped a little. But deadly fights with strong villains, when lives are at stake and all means are used, made me laugh joyfully or smile madly at the end. Because at those moments, I no longer cared about the fear of losing my Quirk or of being nothing without it. We used everything we could, including our Quirks, and the fact that I survived, is that not proof that I am stronger and more trained than my already dead enemy?
Even that Dissolver, I could have caught him alone and extracted everything I needed from him, and his gang would have simply fallen apart without him. But I wanted to test my strength in direct combat. Even though I also have to commit stealthy killings. I am not a fool, and I remember the main advantage of a villain, which I have become, over heroes. Secrecy. No matter how strong the heroes are and no matter how many there are, if they cannot find me and cannot hit me with their attacks, it does not matter.
Staring at my clenched fists as I waited to receive the information about the police station, I thought about the reward for this task. My father. I want to find him no less than I want to find that organization and the scientists. He worked in Japan for some time after leaving Mom and me, but later he flew to the United States and disappeared there. There was no news of his heroic deeds, and even before, he never really liked the attention of journalists and the public. Information about the families and personal lives and activities of heroes, if they did not want to publicize it, was carefully hidden by the government. Moreover, the policy of providing benefits and privileges to heroes is widespread in all modern countries, which has encouraged heroes to move from one country to another. In the past, countries with harsh conditions and strict control over hero activities quickly lost their strongest Quirk users, which was equivalent to losing military strength. Such countries quickly fell apart and were absorbed by more adaptable ones.
Finally, the sound of a message arriving on my email came from my laptop on the table. I needed to review the information and later go scout the police station itself. I should be able to make it there and learn everything I need before morning.
I looked at my mask, and my face smiled involuntarily.
Father, we will meet soon, and I have some questions for you. And your answers had better satisfy me. Otherwise, my reaction will not please you. Not at all.
***A/N***
Please Drop some Power stones if you like the story.