It was late at night. Or… the next day? No, technically still the same day since I didn't go to bed until five. Whatever. Point is, the clock was creeping toward midnight, which meant it was time to act on the intel my good friend Bird Dealer Guy had so kindly given me. So kind. Truly generous.
The info itself was… fine. Not as good as I'd hoped. No exact location for Overhaul's main hideout, just a list of smaller side spots. A little disappointing, honestly. But buried in the file was something actually interesting - a detailed write-up on an underground fighting ring that Overhaul was heavily involved with. I think it might have made an appearance in the anime. Couldn't say for sure.
The report described the place as where he went "talent scouting." Which, let's be honest, was just a polite way of saying kidnapping people with useful quirks. Nobody was signing up for this willingly. Even better, the notes included a neat little log of his previous visits, dates, times, and everything.
All I had to do was figure out the pattern and show up when he usually did. Easy. And, as luck would have it, one of those times was just before midnight. Guess what time it was? 11:30. I'd say that counts.
Obviously, I couldn't walk in looking like a literal fifteen-year-old girl. Even with a mask, that would be suspicious. So… transformation time.
Earlier today, I had discovered something fun. If I focus hard enough and study something in detail, its shape, texture, smell, even the little imperfections, I can recreate it exactly. Works on inanimate objects, works on living things. I'd tested it by scanning a block of cheese and then transforming the air in front of me into a perfect copy of that exact block of cheese. Yes, cheese. Don't question the method.
Which meant I could also transform myself into other people. And right now, I was a random forty-five-year-old man with bulging muscles, a square jaw, and a face that screamed, "I will eat you!" Perfect disguise. Not even sarcastic. This was actually perfect.
When I arrived at the address, it was instantly obvious that this wasn't your average illegal fight club. The building wasn't some dingy warehouse or abandoned basement. It was sleek, modern, and large enough to have its own zip code. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the city lights, and the exterior design just oozed money. It was the kind of place that screamed, "Rich people do their crimes here."
One expensive car after another pulled up to the entrance, dropping off people who looked like they belonged in a crime drama — designer suits, sparkling jewelry, predatory smiles. Some radiated wealth, some danger, and some both. The whole thing looked less like an underground fight ring and more like a private luxury event for people who got bored with yacht parties.
Two bouncers in sharp black suits stood at the front doors, their expressions unreadable. If I'd been my real self, a scrawny fifteen-year-old, I might have crossed the street to avoid them. But I wasn't me. I was Mister Terrifying Forty-Five, so I walked right up. I even ignored the small crowd gathered outside, a mix of men in tailored suits, women in dresses that cost more than my apartment, and… a real-life cat girl. Ears, tail, and everything. Yeah, I was definitely coming back to that later.
for... research purposes, of course
The guards didn't bother stopping me. I got a quick "he looks fine" glance and was waved through. They were clearly underpaid and even more clearly uninterested in asking questions.
Inside, the air was warm with expensive perfume, cologne, and the faint scent of cigars. The lobby had polished marble floors that reflected the golden overhead lighting, plush leather seating arranged in little lounge clusters, and staff in crisp uniforms moving around with trays of drinks. It looked more like the lobby of an elite hotel than the entrance to a den of illegal combat.
I headed straight for the elevator, already sensing that the real activity was happening underground. My hand hovered over the call button when I caught a different kind of noise among the soft music and polite chatter. It was… very specific.
Against my better judgment, I turned my head.
Two women, pressed against the wall, kissing like the world was ending in five minutes. Deep, heated, completely ignoring the fact they had an audience. From the way things were going, I wasn't sure if they'd stop at kissing.
I am, of course, a gentleman. Which meant I did not stare. But my brain, my stupid, primitive, monkey brain, thought it would be hilarious to actually pull out a bucket of popcorn and watch the show. Tempting. Very tempting. But no. Mission first. Elevator first. an elevator that was apparently taking a century to arrive.
Ding.
Finally. The doors slid open, and I stepped inside, pressing the lowest button available. The ride down was quiet except for the low hum of the machinery… and, faintly, the sound of the women upstairs. Honestly, impressive stamina.
The doors opened to reveal the underground hall. The atmosphere hit me instantly: loud music, shouting, laughter, the occasional clink of glass. ect, ect.
A cage stood off to the side, surrounded by a roaring crowd, where two fighters were going at each other with a mix of quirks and brute force.
I stepped out, letting the doors close behind me. Overhaul wasn't here yet, which meant I had time to kill. I found a seat near the edge of the crowd with a clear view of the fight. The energy in the air was electric, the kind that made even standing still feel like you were part of something dangerous.
"Hot match, huh?" I muttered to no one in particular as one of the fighters got caught in a burst of fire and went down screaming.
"Heh." I chuckled at my own joke like it was the peak of comedy.
It wasn't.
"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFuck you!"
ok... :(
A/N mmmmm much humour.