This Thing A Quiet Madness Made

Chapter 20

Following their first introduction, Unknown returned to the yakuza base daily along with both Toga and Twice. In fact, Mimic insisted they arrive before sunrise each morning, berating them if they were even a moment late, which certainly did nothing for their affections towards the group.

Shie Hassaikai: that was their name. They were rather notorious these days, as she had learned from Twice afterward, especially with the unrest in the hero world. Even she had heard of them before, if only in passing. Amnestica had pestered her relentlessly after she returned on the first day, insisting she tell her everything about the group. Apparently she was a fan, which reminded Unknown exactly how unhinged the girl could be under that bubbly outer layer of hers.

Unknown had learned later on that Twice was the one to bring Overhaul to Shigaraki's attention. He and Toga filled her in on the events that followed, including Magne's death and Mr. Compress's injury, which would account for their hostility towards the group in general and Overhaul in particular. As for herself, she couldn't say she had much reason to like the young leader. Aside from his blatant reliance on his gruesome quirk- though perhaps she wasn't one to judge, she reminded herself plainly- he also had a cold, authoritative way of speaking to those below him that repulsed her. She wondered why the other members were so loyal to him, particularly Mimic and Chrono, when he treated them as nothing more than pawns to be shuffled around. But then again, she wasn't particularly interested in knowing. What she was interested in, however, was the secretive project they were working on- the one they had tried using her quirk for.

It was clear they had a very particular purpose in mind for her; after all, she was only here because they had specifically asked for her. Whatever they were working on must have been important. She didn't ask what the project was about, of course- she wouldn't get an answer either way, and it would only give them more reason to mistrust her. A bit of curiosity was certainly not a good enough reason to condemn herself to the ire of the yakuza. Instead, she did what she was best at: blending into the background. One might think members of a group like this would be wary of an outsider like herself, especially one whose face was plastered on every news channel in the country, but in fact, the lack of suspicion from the men around her was almost baffling. In the few days she had been there, she had glimpsed numerous conversations between other members that she was almost certainly not supposed to overhear: talk about special weapons, mentions of "The Boss," gossip about "her" attempting to run away again. Unknown wasn't sure if it was because they didn't notice her presence or because they simply didn't care, but she had quickly gleaned no shortage of her newfound allies' vaguely malicious plots.

In an unconscious effort to counteract the dreadful monotony brought by the surprising lack of activity at the base, Unknown often resorted to occupying herself by wandering the extensive halls. Today, she found herself doing just that; having just gotten away from Rappa trying to challenge her again, she now meandered aimlessly through the base in hopes of avoiding everyone else in the building.

Her shoes clicked quietly against the dull metal tiles. Cool, dry air filled with artificial light shifted softly as she stepped past another metal door that looked the same as all the rest. It seemed she was successful in her goal so far, as the halls remained devoid of any other people. They didn't seem to allow many of their members down here in the first place; in fact, most of the group was apparently composed of foot soldiers who were limited to the uppermost level of the base, anything beyond the hidden door remaining off-limits. She wondered what lay in these underground halls that they had to keep hidden even from their own men. Yet another reason she disliked Overhaul.

The silence of the barren corridor sunk into her skin- a looming, stiff kind of silence, much different than that of the imitation warmth she felt at home. At the thought of home, however, the sudden image of a familiar guest room flashed to mind. For a moment, she could almost feel the warm sunlight spilling through the large window next to her bed, she could almost smell the faint sweetness of the air that only ever filled real family homes, she could almost hear the sound of a familiar yelling just outside her door. And for a split second, it felt like she was really there.