My Quirk wants me dead

When Even the Ceiling Tries to Kill You

So, if you've been keeping up with this ridiculous day of mine, you'll know that I've somehow managed to avoid death twice already—once from a bullet, and once from a sudden downpour of bricks. And believe me, after all that, I was really hoping things might calm down a bit. You know, maybe just a little break from all the near-death experiences.

Yeah, ....

.....no ....

There ain't such luck.

Hawks finally got me to the hospital, which, by the way, was a whole other experience. He swooped me inside like I was a sack of potatoes, and before I knew it, we were in the waiting area, which was thankfully not too crowded. People gave us some strange looks, but hey, if you saw a bleeding kid being carried by the Number Three Hero, you'd stare too.

Hawks, being the pro he is, immediately started talking to the receptionist. He was explaining the situation, using his usual laid-back tone, which was impressive considering everything that had just happened. Meanwhile, I was sitting there in one of those uncomfortable waiting room chairs, trying to remember how to breathe properly.

I could feel the adrenaline finally starting to wear off, and with it, the pain in my side was getting harder to ignore. All I wanted was to get patched up and maybe lie down for a few hours—or days. Days would be nice.

But of course, the universe wasn't done messing with me yet.

I'm sitting there, trying not to pass out, when I hear this low creaking noise above me. At first, I think maybe it's just the building settling or something. You know, normal hospital sounds. But then the creaking turns into a full-on groan, and before I can even process what's happening, there's this loud snap.

I look up, and guess what? 

The ceiling fan—the huge, industrial-sized one right above me—has decided it's had enough of life and is coming down, blades first, directly toward me.

For a split second, everything slows down. 

I can see the fan falling, the sharp blades spinning in a deadly blur, and all I can think is, Really? 

Of all the ways to go, getting decapitated by a ceiling fan in a hospital waiting room wasn't exactly on my bingo card.

But before I can even flinch, Hawks is there. I swear, he moves faster than I can blink. One second, he's at the reception desk, calmly chatting with the nurse, and the next, he's diving toward me, wings flaring out like a protective shield.

He grabs me by the arm and yanks me out of the chair just as the fan crashes down, blades smashing into the seat I was just sitting in. The noise is deafening, and pieces of metal and plastic fly everywhere, but somehow, Hawks manages to keep me safe from all of it.

We land in a heap a few feet away, Hawks half-covering me with his wings, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at the wreckage. The chair is completely destroyed, the fan blades embedded in the floor like some kind of bizarre modern art sculpture. If I hadn't moved... well, you can guess what would have happened.

Hawks: Are you kidding me?

Hawks mutters, his voice tense with disbelief.... Oh trust me, I wouldn't believe this shit myself but this was kinda normal by now.

Hawks: A freaking ceiling fan?

I'm too shocked to respond, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. My brain's struggling to keep up, trying to understand how I've almost died three times in one day.

The hospital staff finally snaps into action, rushing over to check on us. The receptionist looks pale, clearly as stunned as we are. 

Receptionist: Oh my God, are you okay?

She gasps, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. Everyone who was normal would react this way. I kinda felt quite played with.... as if I was a toy that someone wanted to discard.

Hawks doesn't even bother standing up. He's still crouched beside me, his eyes narrowed in a way that's very un-Hawks-like. 

Hawks: Yeah, we're fine. But we need to get him checked in, now!

The nurses nod frantically and start ushering us toward the emergency room, but I'm still stuck on what just happened. I mean, a ceiling fan? What are the odds of that?

Me: Hey, Hawks? I think today might be cursed.

Hawks glances down at me, his usual easygoing expression replaced with something much more serious. 

Hawks: There are no curses.... but Kid, I'm starting to think you might be right on that one....

And with that, we're rushed into a room where, hopefully, nothing else tries to kill me. But honestly? At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the IV drip turns into a snake or something. Because apparently, that's just my luck today.

Let's just hope I survive the next five minutes without another close call. 

Fingers crossed, right?