In a gloomy, dark room filled with chemical, biological, and scientific apparatus, a red-haired woman could be seen staring at a bottle filled with a purple liquid. Her surroundings were cluttered with different liquids of various colors, some emitting subtle gases. This woman was none other than Moira. She was dressed in her usual scientific gown, her gaze empty as she fixed on the liquid before her.
'Another failure...' Moira let out a resigned sigh as she carefully set the bottle down next to the others. 'At least it's breathable now.'
Moira thought as she looked at the dozens of bottles hermetically sealed to prevent any gas leaks. She leaned back in her chair nonchalantly, gazing up at the ceiling with a blank stare.
"What am I doing wrong...?" Moira murmured before turning her gaze to her right arm. "Tch."
Said arm was completely sealed by bandages, but the difference in mass between the two arms was still noticeable. Of course, Moira was not a woman who exercised or anything like that. In fact, she was quite thin, to the point of concern about her own health. An incident with one of her experiments had led to her being exposed to one of the variants of the liquid before her, permanently degrading her right arm muscles. It also shortened her life expectancy by at least 20 years.
'Who knew that doing the thing I love the most would be the thing that would hasten my death...' Moira thought with a hollow laugh, memories of that fateful day returning to her mind. 'No, it was the fault of those ignorant people; they couldn't see the potential in my research... and the one person who could see the potential betrayed me without a second thought...'
"Just wait, Angela... you will pay for doing this to me..." A growl of pure hatred leaked from her lips before she forced herself to calm down. Having a tantrum in a biologically dangerous place was not a good idea.
RING~ RING~ RING~ RING~
Suddenly, her phone started ringing. Smiling to herself, she picked up the call, knowing who the person on the other end was.
"You took your time," Moira began with her usual cynical tone.
"Fuck you," Reaper growled with annoyance as he spat out the words. "Do you know how hard it was to sneak out of the safest fucking country in the fucking world without dying trying?"
"How hard can it be to steal from a few scientists with a lot of money?"
"Apparently very difficult," Reaper replied forcefully. If he thought he was just playing around before, he now realized he was genuinely annoyed. "I was discovered while looking for that secret project; I couldn't get much, just a few files..."
"It's fine as long as you have the data from the main target. It's a shame, but there's nothing to do..." replied Moira as she turned to her computer. There were already several windows open with many processes on various projects.
"I'm passing them to you right now..." Reaper murmured. The line was silent for a moment before a small murmur escaped Reaper's lips. "By the way, we need a medic; Sombra was injured while we were leaving I-Island."
Moira blinked at Reaper's slightly concerned tone. "How is she?"
"She'll live," Reaper was silent for a moment. "I'm passing you my location."
"Mmnn..." Moira nodded as she went back to looking at the different screens on her computer. "Go to this place; tell them I sent you from me for treatment."
"The Hashimoto Clan?"
"You owe me some favors."
"They all owe you favors, huh?" scoffed Reaper with a snort.
"Let's just say that biological weapons are highly sought after on the black market," Moira replied enigmatically. "Too bad that area is now monopolized by me."
"Well, I'll see you in a few days when Sombra stabilizes."
And with that, Reaper cut the call short. Moira looked at the phone with a hint of amusement at her henchman's grumpiness. Turning her gaze back to her computer, she saw I-Island's most secret projects and....
"God..." Moira's eyes widened in disbelief at the information before her. "This..."
As Moira read through each file quickly, her breathing quickened the more she read. The look in her eyes became manic as she read everything at inhuman speeds. And then her gaze stopped on the picture of one specific person.
Lena Oxton.
Moira's smile turned maniacal as she let out a mad giggle in the darkness of the room....
"GET THIS SHIT OFF ME!"
"Calm down; a hero must—"
"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT A FAGGOT LIKE YOU SAYS!"
Inside a gigantic building, two people could be seen talking civilly....
"Where is that anger coming from?"
"I'LL BREAK YOUR LEGS!"
For the most part...
These two people were none other than Best Jeanist and Bakugo. They were both in a beauty salon where Jeanist was trying to style Bakugo's hair, failing miserably.
"Could it be that you are frustrated?" Jeanist spoke calmly as he continued to style Bakugo's hair. "Perhaps because of your classmate, Midoriya?"
"Never!" "He's just a loser who can never become a Hero! Just an idiot who follows an impossible dream! I'll crush him like the ant he is!"
"I see," Jeanist nodded as she took note of his strange aggressiveness towards Midoriya. "I saw you at the festival; you're strong!"
"Of course! I'm the best hero of all!"
"...Then why did you lose?"
"..." Bakugo gritted his teeth silently. "My team was trash."
"No," Jeanist shook his head. "Your team wasn't bad; you didn't know how to command them, you didn't know how to lead them to victory. They looked for a leader, and they saw you, but you didn't see the leader in yourself."
"..."
"You keep thinking that you can do everything alone, but it's not like that; people sometimes have to look around and think of others," explained Jeanist, cutting some strands of Bakugo's hair. "We Heroes can't be selfish; we must be the symbol of good and justice. It's hard, I know, but it's what we love and aspire to be. We are people who break our backs to care and see people smile without asking for anything in return."
"I—"
"You're strong, Bakugo, really strong," admitted Jeanist as he put the finishing touches on Bakugo's hair. "But you're missing something essential to be a Hero."
With a turn of the chair, Bakugo looked at himself in the mirror.
"You lack heart," Jeanist stated as he looked Bakugo in the eyes through the mirror. "And not a heart that beats only for you, but for all people. A heart that can help everyone and guide you when needed. Only then can you advance and become a Great Hero."
Bakugo just remained silent as he looked himself in the eyes.
"...I hate this hairstyle."
"I know."
"Sir!" exclaimed Bubble Girl as she rushed into Nighteye's office. "We have movement from the Hashimoto Clan."
Nighteye gave her a sidelong glance before instructing her to continue.
"Near one of their headquarters, the movement of one of their high-ranking members was spotted," Bubble Girl reported as she read some papers in her hands. Technology could not be trusted to store information these days. "According to the informant, it was two individuals to whom the Hashimoto Clan owed a debt; apparently, they needed to receive medical help."
"Is that all?" asked Nighteye as he typed quickly on his computer.
"No, the informant managed to secretly get a picture as the two individuals, presumably villains, were taken away," Bubble Girl handed an image to Nighteye before taking a step back.
Nighteye took the picture while analyzing it detail by detail. "I see..."
The picture showed the famous mercenary Reaper carefully carrying a brunette woman with Latin features. Both looked like they had been through hell. Reaper's clothes were torn and burned, his mask was partially broken, but the quality of the photo didn't let his face show. The brunette girl looked like she was wounded by a bullet; her clothes were also damaged, but she looked better than Reaper.
"Good," Nighteye nodded thoughtfully as he stared at the photo. "With this, we can make a move against them..."
Immediately, Nighteye called an old detective friend and various agencies. It was time to make a move against one of the Criminal Families.