【𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 • 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐊𝐔 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑】

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You sigh, clutching your bag in your hands, forcing yourself to not look outside the window. You know what's out there, anyways.

Children. Innocent people. A quirk war, tearing people apart. Maybe not during the daytime, but in this part of the city, anything is possible.

It's reminds you of an article you wrote, a long time ago, before you thought it would be possible. It's the article that got you your job, that got you interested in journalism. 

It was about the Quirk Singularity Doomsday Theory, and it's theorist, a man named Kyudai, who disappeared shortly after presenting the idea.

Little did you know there was truth to that theory, a horrid truth now relevant in your life. 

Quirks have become more powerful, enabling children to do impossible things. Things no human should ever be able to do.

People sell their children now; an alternative to abortion or such. 

They sell their children and the child's powerful quirk to a man the media calls the Agitator. 

He offers crazy prices. Prices that could make you rich, your grandchildren rich. 

As a result, people want to know: who's child is the strongest? Is worth the higher price?

They hype their kids up on drugs and send them out to kill each other. It's no different than a dog fight.

In multiple articles you've written, you've called this the Quirk War. That's what it is, isn't it? A war? Making even the quietest of streets possibly the most dangerous?

It's disgusting.

And now that the symbol of peace is missing, it's gotten even worse. Crimes are on the rise, and everyone's told to stay inside for their safety.

"This is your stop," the cab driver says, his stern voice snapping you out of your daydream. You open the door, aware of the fact he locks them back right after you get out. 

You sprint to your apartment building, the fear of being attacked greater than the pain in your feet. You knew you shouldn't have worn those heels to work.

You climb the stairs, your shoes rubbing blisters, a tight hold on your satchel.

It has everything you could ever need in it; your journal, recorder, pen, etcetera. A good journalist is always ready to capture a good story.

Well, and your keys.

You use them to unlock the door to your small living space, the smell of cigarette smoke infiltrating your lungs almost instantly. You step inside, slipping off your shoes.

"I'm home," you snap, "put it out, Hiroto."

"Ah, sorry," he smirks, pressing the cigarette onto his ashtray. "How was work?"

You and your brother share a crappy apartment, but not because you're poor, but because Hiroto can't seem to stay out of trouble. What harm could he do in a secluded, tiny rent room?

You smile at the mention of your job. Yes, it's work, but you love it to pieces.

"I published a new article today," you say, heading over to the computer, "about how Deku went missing and the League of Villains."

"Oh? About that pro-hero?" He smirks, sitting up from his position on the couch, "Has it gotten taken down yet?"

You sigh.

Maybe you're a bit of a troublemaker, too.

"Suzuki better hope not," you grumble, clacking on the keyboard and logging on to the Symbol of Truth website.

Your boss, Suzuki, has always been a firm person. What he wants, he gets, and if he doesn't like your article? Boom, erased.

You have a feeling he doesn't like you very much, on the account that it happens a lot.

The bright yellows and blues of the website's design makes your eyes hurt, and the newspaper company's motto stares you in the eye.

"ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ, ɪɴ ᴀ ʟʏɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ."

It's cheesy, like someone came up with it on the spot in some boring meeting. Suzuki loves it, though, and uses it like his mantra.

You click on the link, the title to your latest masterpiece staring you in the face.

"ᴜɴᴘʀᴇᴅɪᴄᴛᴀʙʟᴇ"

You wanted it to be vague; Suzuki might've considered keeping it posted. But as you scroll down, you realize that's not the case.

Instead of your article, the page reads: [CONTENT DELETED].

You sigh, smacking the table with your fist. Why can't that old man just keep it up for even a day?

"Hiroto," you groan, "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"Awe, come on, sis," your brother huffs, "I'm sure it'll just take a bit for Suzuki to warm up to you."

"I've had this job for two months! Only one of my articles hasn't been taken down!"

You groan, a headache starting to creep into your head. "I'm surprised he hasn't fired me yet," you say.

You weren't always such a failure; you were your teacher's favorite and always got an A on essays in high school. That's about it, though, since you didn't have any friends to read what you wrote.

Then again, you didn't think you would become a journalist anyways.

You wanted to be a hero. Doesn't every little ignorant kid? 

But that was before your parents died. Your quirk isn't suit for saving people, anyways. All you can do is heal things like cuts and bruises. Useful in everyday life, but not for saving lives or healing anything more than a sprained ankle. Not that you haven't tried, it just leads to disappointment and more tears.

Hiroto, on the other hand, is quirkless. So was your father; Hiroto got the unlucky gene. 

He manages to get into fights and rob convenient stores anyhow, quirk or no quirk. If your parents hadn't left you both a ton of money, he'd probably be in jail right now.

You turn back to your computer, searching through the latest articles. Of course, Akari's latest article is at the top.

Typical.

Akari  is Suzuki's favorite, and you consider her your rival. You even went to the same primary school.

You hesitate, but click on it. Her articles are always nothing but facts. You find them dry and boring, just like her. Plastic. Fake.

You skim the article. It's something about a pro-hero mysteriously braking his leg and not saying anything to the public. It seems intriguing, but when you find out which hero, you've lost interest.

The pro-hero Dynamight always gets into trouble. He's such a mystery, but it's not new. He's a great fighter, though, so you do respect him. The only reason he's so popular is his bad-boy aura. Girls all over the world swoon over the hot-headed hero.

You exit the page and head over to the couch where Hiroto's sitting. He's on his phone, brow raised at the screen, an unlit cigar in his mouth. You plop down beside him.

"What's up?" You ask, turning the screen towards you.

"They found that pro hero, Deku," Hiroto explains, "he's all banged up and is being brought to a hospital nearby."

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