The van screeched to a stop outside Endeavor's agency, a towering slab of glass and steel piercing the city skyline, its peak glowing like a fucking beacon of the Flame Hero's ego.
Zion stepped out, his black jacket scuffed, boots heavy.
Deku hopped out next, his green hair a mess, clutching a notebook, already muttering hero stats.
Shoto followed, his scar stark, expression blank, his breath frosting the morning air. Toru's invisible bounce was all giggles, her hero gloves floating, her voice a chirp.
"Wow, it's huge!" she squealed, her enthusiasm a goddamn sparkler.
Zion grunted, "Yeah, big dick energy," his crude smirk hiding the weight of being here.
Inside, the lobby was all polished marble and sharp angles, Endeavor's logo—a flaming fist—plastered everywhere.
A sidekick, some guy with a buzzcut, led them to a training floor, a massive gym with reinforced walls, burn marks scarring the concrete.
"Warm up here," he barked, tossing them wristbands for tracking. "Endeavor wants you ready."
Zion cracked his knuckles, his All for One flexing.
Deku stretched, babbling about One for All; Shoto iced a dummy, his flames flickering; Toru cartwheeled, her gloves a blur, her laugh relentless.
Zion hit the weights, his Ironclad hardening his fist, Lightspeed twitching for speed drills.
He sparred a dummy, blade Quirk slashing, each cut precise.
Toru zipped by, invisible, tapping his shoulder. "You're intense, Zion!" she giggled, dodging his swipe. "Stay out of my way," he growled, but her stealth was a tool he'd use.
After the warm up, Zion, arms crossed, and the others stood in the briefing room.
Deku scribbled notes, muttering about hero tactics; Shoto sat rigid, his scar stark, eyes cold; Toru's invisible presence bounced, her giggles echoing, her hero gloves floating.
Endeavor towered at the front, flames flickering on his shoulders, voice like a furnace. "You're here to learn, not screw around," he growled, his glare sweeping them. "First mission's today. We're splitting you—better focus, less baggage."
Zion's gut tightened, his crude smirk masking unease. Splitting meant less eyes on him, but also less backup if All for One's shadow moved.
Endeavor jabbed a screen, maps flashing. "Midoriya, Todoroki, you're with Burnin' on a robbery sting downtown. Zion, Hagakure, you're with Kido on a villain takedown in the east district. Some asshole's been torching warehouses, got the city spooked. Move out."
Toru's gloves clapped, her voice a chirp. "Oh, Zion, we're gonna kick butt!"
Zion grunted, "Just stay visible enough to not trip me."
Her laugh was a sparkler, her invisibility a wildcard he'd use. Deku gave him a wary glance, Shoto none at all, their mission pulling them away.
Kido, a lean pro with a Trajectory Bend Quirk, led Zion and Toru to a van, the city blurring past—neon signs, crowded streets, the east district's grime creeping in.
"Target's called Scorch," Kido said, voice clipped, tossing them a tablet. "Fire Quirk, strong, likes to burn things for kicks. Got a crew, six, maybe seven henchmen, low-level Quirks. We hit his hideout tonight, an old factory."
Zion scanned the tablet—Scorch, mid-30s, shaved head, scars, a pyro with a rap sheet. Easy enough, but the dark felt like a trap.
Toru leaned over, her breath close, invisible but warm.
"This is so intense! You ready, Zion?" Her cheer was relentless, but her stealth could tilt the fight.
"Born ready," he said, crude grin flashing.
"Stick close, don't vanish on me." Kido's eyes flicked back, assessing, but he said nothing, the van humming toward the mission.
Night fell, the east district a maze of crumbling buildings, streetlights busted, shadows thick. The factory loomed, its smokestacks jagged, windows dark, the air reeking of ash and metal.
Kido parked a block away, signaling two other pros—Sidekick and Onima, both mid-tier, Quirks for speed and strength.
"We go in quiet," Kido said, checking his comms. "Zion, Hagakure, you're flankers. Find Scorch, pin him. We'll handle the grunts. No heroics, got it?"
Zion nodded, his All for One ready, Creation sparking a small knife, Ironclad hardening his fists.
They moved, slipping through alleys, the city's pulse faint, the night a fucking shroud. Toru's gloves bobbed beside him, her voice a whisper. "I'm right here, Zion. This is kinda scary, huh?"
He snorted, "Scary's my fuel. Stay sharp."
The factory's side door was rusted, Zion's blade Quirk slicing the lock, the creak loud in the dark. Inside, the air was heavy, machines silent, crates stacked high, a faint glow flickering deeper in—fire, Scorch's mark.
Kido's team split, Sidekick and Onima circling left, Kido right, comms crackling. Zion and Toru crept forward, her gloves brushing his arm, guiding him through the maze.
"I see light," she whispered, her voice tighter now, the cheer fading.
Zion's Lightspeed twitched, his eyes catching a silhouette—tall, scarred, Scorch, pacing by a fire barrel, his hands sparking flames.
Five henchmen lounged nearby, Quirks visible: one with stone fists, another with spiked hair crackling static, others less clear.
Zion crouched behind a crate, Toru's breath close.
"We wait for Kido," he muttered, crafting a net with Creation, ready to trap.
A scream cut the plan—Sidekick's, from the left, followed by a crash, metal twisting. Comms fizzled, Kido's voice garbled, "Ambush—fall back!"
Flames roared, Scorch's laugh echoing, his fire Quirk flaring, lighting the factory red. The henchmen moved, stone-fist guy charging toward the pros, static-hair zapping a wall, sparks flying.
Zion's pulse raced, his crude instinct kicking in. "Fuck waiting," he growled, gripping Toru's invisible arm. "We move, now."
They darted right, dodging a fire jet, Toru's stealth keeping her unseen, Zion's Lightspeed a blur.
He crafted a steel shield, blocking a stone fist from a henchman, Ironclad absorbing the hit, his counterpunch cracking the guy's jaw, dropping him.
Toru's voice hissed, "Behind you!"
Zion spun, blade Quirk slashing a spiked henchman's arm, blood spraying, the guy howling.
Scorch turned, his eyes locking on Zion, flames surging. "Kids, huh?" he sneered, hurling a fireball, Zion diving, the crate behind him ash.
Kido's comms died, a distant explosion shaking the floor—Sidekick and Onima were out, maybe down.
Zion and Toru were cut off, the factory a furnace, Scorch's fire eating the dark. "Zion, we're alone!" Toru whispered, her gloves trembling.
He crafted a taser, zapping a static henchman, the guy convulsing, but Scorch closed in, his flames a wall, his henchmen—four left—circling, Quirks sparking: claws, smoke, acid drip.
Zion's grin was feral, his All for One screaming to steal, but he held back, Toru's gasp grounding him.
"Stay close," he barked, crafting a spear, the night black, the villain and his crew closing like wolves.
*****
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