I looked with disgust at the body of the man I had just killed after interrogating him. Yakushi. That idiot, despite being careful about his disguise, had been acting too arrogantly over the past couple of months. Not only did he and his gang of imbeciles rob practically the same district over and over, they had also killed several ordinary people. When a robbery has no casualties, it usually only attracts the attention of heroes who care about publicity and money. In other words, the weaklings and the trash of the hero industry. But when people die, more serious players can show up, like Nighteye or Eraserhead. And in really unpleasant cases, vigilantes might appear.
Vigilantes are a problem. Not only are they experienced fighters, since the very fact that they hunt villains while hiding from the police and heroes proves their strength, but they also are not afraid to get their hands dirty. And some of them are not right in the head. I once saw Stain from a distance when he was killing another drug dealer. I never wanted to see him again.
Enough.
I have been getting lost in my thoughts too often lately. I must have picked up the habit from an acquaintance. The main thing is not to start muttering.
After glancing around the empty alley and listening carefully, I confirmed there were no witnesses. I grabbed my hidden backpack. It almost got burned by that Denki. I changed into spare clothes and stuffed the bloodied ones into the backpack. I checked the area one more time and headed to where this group of imbeciles had stashed their money. At least there was some use from them. Double profit, really. The local "businessman" who paid me to get rid of these noisy guys did not want to attract the attention of the authorities or heroes to this district.
It was a shame there were not more idiots like them. I could have made more money, and more importantly, I could have strengthened my Quirk and uncovered more of its potential.
I pulled my hood tighter over my head and quickened my pace, walking along streets with few passersby. In the first months after gaining my freedom, I got tired of the constant questions from kind hearted strangers and police officers: "Why are you out so late, little guy?" and "Where are your parents, boy?" I had to improvise, make up all sorts of lies, like claiming I had a Quirk called "Eternal Youth." In extreme cases, I simply ran away.
Back then, I frequently changed where I slept because many people wanted to catch the thief who could walk through walls. It was during that period that I killed a man for the first time after my escape. Believing I was untouchable, I decided to steal money right from under the noses of some villains. One of them managed to grab my hand.
As far as I understand, my Quirk allows me to create and manipulate a substance that exists inside my body since my Quirk awakened. I pompously named this substance, and my Quirk along with it, "Dark Matter."
One of its properties lets me somehow affect the space of my own body and a small area around it. This allows me to choose what can touch my body and what cannot. But this powerful ability has a serious limitation: I cannot pass through Quirk users or attacks that are imbued with Quirk energy. Either it is fundamentally impossible, or I am not strong enough yet.
Back then, that did not bother me.
The villain's eyes were bloodshot and wild from the chase. He stared into mine. His hand, covered in fur like a monkey's, squeezed my arm until I felt my bones creak slightly. Panic and horror washed over me at the thought of being caught and sent back to that laboratory. The thought of the man with the cold eyes asking me his questions again. I wanted to scream and cry, but more than anything, I wanted death for the one who had threatened my freedom.
A sudden movement toward the villain instead of away from him made him hesitate for a fraction of a second. That was enough for me to sink my teeth into his throat. Images of the past flashing through my mind made me clench my jaw even harder. A sharp blow to the side sent me flying two meters back and snapped me out of it. Forgetting about the money, my legs carried me away from there. The metallic taste in my mouth and the memory of involuntarily swallowing a piece of his neck were disgusting. Only two blocks later, in a back alley, I allowed myself to empty my stomach.
From then on, I became more cautious and tried to better understand what had happened.
Claustrophobia: The fear of being trapped. That was the answer I found in a search engine. It glowed brightly on the cracked screen of a smartphone I had "borrowed" from a villain. Quite ironic, given my Quirk, since the only thing that could stop me was someone getting a firm grip on my body. Well, knowing that something was wrong with my head was better than not knowing. Even if it caused problems later.
I noticed police officers running toward the alley with the corpses. I ducked into the nearest back alley and hid behind a dumpster. It seemed they had not seen me. I did not want to answer questions about what a twelve year old was doing out so late at night. I told myself that when all of this was over, I would lie low for a few months, rest in my hideout, and focus more on training and education.
Everything was much easier now than during my first year of "nomadic" life after escaping from that place. I was lucky to run into an information broker named Giran. Or maybe he allowed me to find him. I am still not sure. For money and for completing certain tasks, I was able to obtain information, some goods, and services. For example, I had to spend all the money I had saved over a year and a half on proper identification documents and a middle school diploma, which I supposedly completed early. That stingy bastard. Damn. Why did I even remember the exact amount of money I spent? I only ruined my mood.
The main thing is that thanks to Giran's connections, I managed to find trainers who did not ask unnecessary questions. There, I was taught combat techniques, knife handling, and firearms. And there were sparring matches. Many sparring matches. I literally beamed with joy when I gave my trainer a black eye thanks to his ignorance of my Quirk and the element of surprise. Well, that smile faded quickly once the trainer got serious.
The man was quite a character. Bald, dark skinned, built like a tank, nearly six foot five, with a vertical scar across his left eye and a face like stone. He only spoke about business. Any desire to ask about his life or anything other than training disappeared under his direct gaze. I think the joke about "a fork in the eye or in the ass" during our first meeting was unnecessary.
I also discovered new properties of Dark Matter. It passively enhances all of my physical attributes. And this enhancement is closely tied to how fit my body is. For example, if I trained my strength up to a certain level, then my Quirk gives me a certain boost. If I trained it higher, the boost is higher. These conclusions are frustratingly simplified, but for precise measurements I would need equipment that I have neither the desire nor the money to buy or rent.
So, this seems to be the right entrance, according to what Yakushi told me. This building could really use some major renovations. Still, it does not matter. I will grab the money from the stash in this villain's apartment. That "Dissolver" turned out to be a complete disappointment in combat, and I doubt I will ever need to come here again.
There is the money. Toss it in my backpack and head to my rented apartment. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.
How wonderful it is to sleep in my own bed, not on the floor or on boxes. Although, I once spent the night in a furniture store. I had to run pretty fast the next morning. But it was fun to see the salesperson's shocked face when he found me awake on a king sized bed.