Rebirth and Blood

Everything tasted like piss, the walls flexed and waved

under his gaze and his legs were set to wobble. The bottle was in his right hand, more than half empty by the last fifthteenth minute. His cheap, grey suit reeked of the stuff and his ugly brown work shoes were splattered at the tips with muck. Green hair came out in wild, unmanned knots that only grew worse from the previous month when he stopped washing his hair. It seemed so pointless when he was just there behind a desk for hours on end daily. Again his lips kissed the rim of the glass, feeling the bitter burning liquor numb his mind.

He was twenty four now. His dreams were long dead and he had traded the corpse in for a suit and tie. He was quirkless, the second bottom of the pyramid that was just above the criminally insane. All his life he kept his head down, always doing what others told him because it was easier than pushing against everything society expected of him. Sure he'd survived the so-called "Meta Liberation War '' way back when, but it just meant he cowered in a bunker with his mother and thousands of other horrified civilians. And the sick thing is that nothing changed after the smoke cleared, everything just went back to the normal status quo. 

He was still just a regular man leading a mediocre existence. He had survived one of the worst conflicts in recent memory and gained nothing from it. He was even still a virgin, which just added on top of the pain. Yet the one thing that stung above all else was seeing Him on the screens, lording his superiority over everyone despite the fact the fucker almost bullied him into suicide more then once. Dynomight the hero, Dynomight the savior of society, Dynomight the golden man.

All he did was kill the nut job behind the revolution and everyone kissed his ass. Where's the justice in that? Where was his chance at the spotlight, where could he actually do some good for...somebody before he dies? He just wanted to help, to be useful in a way that wouldn't destroy his soul, but no he was genetically inferior. A living relic in the age of wonder that didn't belong.

In his drunken stupor words fly back to which he never could forget no matter how hard he tried. They came out in a pathetic whisper that tickled the ear.

"It's not bad to dream, but you have to be realistic."

All Might told him that, the man he idolized, the one who he tried to use to replace his deadbeat of a father who ran out on him and his mom before he could string two words together, told him his dreams were stupid.

The bottle shattered on the grey concrete walls surrounding the alley, spraying green glass everywhere. "Fuck, fuck, fuck" was all he could say with his emotions now rubbed raw by both stress and the drink. He was doomed from the start and forced to watch others who didn't give one shit about people like him or those who can't save themselves unless there's a stupid villain to fight. No one reaches out, no one asks how you are, no one cares unless you got the right stuff and he most certainly did not.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded paper, undoing it and reading it over one last time. Damn, was he really going to do it this time? Why not? Everything else sucks so why not just give one big middle finger to the world and say "Fuck you" before you suffer anymore? Nobody would be hurt...except him and nobody would care except his mom, but with his life insurance she'll be set for life once it's done. The bridge was only a few blocks away and even now he could hear the ocean. Just one step and everything is finished. No more pain, no more anger, no more sadness. Just...nothing. He hoped.

So he walked, passing bums and other night owls who looked to be far happier than him until the buildings melted away into massive open sky flanked by thick steel cables holding up the monstrosity while a trickle of traffic that barely gave enough light to see on the pedestrian section. Dying lamps did the rest to boost the glow of a crescent moon which reflected off the still surface of the waves below. Horns honked and the smell of exhaust fumes ripped into his nose, making the movement even less pleasant. But really what did he care about at this point?

He passed further along the path then he intended, likely to hold off on the deed. Now at the middle section of the bridge, he turned towards the ocean. Taking in the eerie darkness of the water mixing with the silver light above, he couldn't help even as intoxicated as he was that it was beautiful. His hands touched the guardrail, it's rusted paint unpleasant in the least, but still he held on. Taking a deep breath and preparing himself.

Then came a smell that was even fouler than the car exhaust thrown in his face. It was the signature stink of cigarettes, menthol cigarettes, that afflicted him so much that he turned his head to the left to see where it was coming from. 

Standing ten feet away was a girl leaning over the railing. Blonde with her hair cut short enough to see her ears in a duffle coat littered with faded stains of brown blending in with the leather. Her skin was ghostly pale in the moonlight which contrasted with the glow of the cigarette in her mouth. He hadn't noticed her on the way here, likely too drunk or stupid to care. 

Feline eyes peered at him from the corner of her head, passively acknowledging his existence before turning to study the man. She was beautiful, or rather she may have been beautiful once. No wrinkles dotted her face yet deep purple bags rested under her eyes and in them was the look of someone forcibly aged past their years, of some who had seen or done too much. Perhaps she could be his age, but it was hard to tell from the way she carried herself.

Even from the outset of a total stranger, she looked...tired. Like someone who should have collapsed by now, but remained out of sheer sturdiness and will. Had she been less fit, he'd think her ancient from the gaunt features surrounding her. He said nothing to the woman and she likewise said nothing, just scanning the other for some hidden clue or story. 

The man grunted in mild displeasure. This was supposed to be his spot. It was another thing the universe did to kick him in the teeth, may as well move further down the line. No sense in ruining somebody else's life with his bullshit. He let go of the handguard and attempted to move past the woman, but as he got three feet away something stopped him.

"You alright?"

Her voice was unusually soft for a smoker, with a high tone that belonged to someone much younger. He paused, turning around to examine the stranger.

"Not really, how about you?"

She took a light puff off her vice, refocusing on the stretch of ocean in front of them.

"Me? Pretty far from ok, but close to good enough."

He eyed her a bit more, taking in how her body blended well with the backdrop of night. Couldn't hurt to ask, could it?

"What are you doing out here?"

The girl took another drag on the tobacco, still indifferent and tired as a person four times her age.

"Paying respects to an old friend. He died eight years ago today so I'm out here to think. What about you?"

He stepped back a bit at that, not sure how to respond. Then he figured what the hell. 

"I'm here to jump off this bridge."

She stopped mid puff, exhaling a smoke that wafted away into the sky as she turned to look at him again. 

"Mind telling me why?"

The man shrugged at the question, finally not giving two shits about anything.

"Because I'm sick of life's bullshit. Twenty five years on this earth and not a single one was good. I never got the things I wanted and everything is horrible because people see me as less than dirt because I'm a setback, a man without a quirk. So I've decided to fuck off before I start taking it out on others, ain't like anybody is gonna care anyway."

She raised an eyebrow at him, stuffing her cigarette in her mouth as she crossed her arms across her chest.

"Really? Twenty something years on earth and you can't say you've never had one good time? Nothing that makes you glad to be alive?"

He chuckled at her cynically.

"None of that really fucking matter. Yeah, I've enjoyed a day out at the movies or read a good book or went for a good jog in the park. But none of that was me, that was all basic, boring stuff that you can barely do when you got to work back to back. The most I've done is live vicariously through fiction and everytime I try to reach out to someone I get shot down because they don't want to be seen with someone like me."

There was an undertone of anger in her voice that caught him off guard when she started to approach him, her black shoes tapping against the pavement.

"So that's it? You're going to throw your life away just because of some random assholes when you haven't had any fun at all?"

Soon there came a similar indignation in his own voice that matched hers almost to a tee.

"It's more than that! My entire life is fucked! I can't be a hero, I can't get a better paying job, and nobody acknowledges me all because I'm quirkless! I'm a goddamn freak!"

The cigarette swished in her mouth going from left to right as a narrowing glare was thrown his way.

"Firstly, check your tone. Secondly, if your only issue is that you don't have some special ability, then you're doing better compared to most people because quirks aren't always beneficial, believe me when I say this they can completely fuck up your head if you don't know how to manage it. Thirdly, if a person like me can have a somewhat fulfilling life after all the stuff I've done, then there's definitely hope for you, so don't go throwing everything away just because you want a bitch out at the world."

He stared contemptuously at the woman, finding himself being egged on by her own anger.

"Oh, what the hell would you know about anything? What the fuck could you do that was so bad?"

She reached into the pocket of her duffle coat and in a flash there came the touch of something sharp on his neck. Her eyes still alight in cold anger.

"I used to run with a gang in my teens. I was a certified villain by the time I was seventeen and I stabbed people for sport, most of which were heroes. I got caught and taken to Tartarus with the worst of the worst. I had nothing, no family, no money, and no friends that were able to help me because they were all dead."

The edge dug a little deeper into his neck, drawing a fine line of blood.

"The only reason I didn't get life was because of my age and my quirk. If it wasn't for the fact that I studied for my own appeal and begged someone I used to try to kill for help, I never would have seen the sun again. When I got out I honestly thought about doing what you're thinking, but I owed it to myself and everyone I hurt and everyone I loved to keep on living because life is the most precious thing in the world and there were thousands of people who would have killed to be where I was. So don't start thinking your little bulshit is the end of everything, because it's not and you can keep going and you can make something of yourself even if the entire world is against you if you just try."

Slowly he raised his hands up in surrender, not expecting any of this.

"Okay, you have a point. Granted I didn't know any of that, but how about you put the knife away and we get to talking? Because wouldn't stabbing me in the neck be counterproductive to what you just said?"

The woman continued to glare at him, taking the knife off his throat and slipping it in her pocket. Rubbing the cut, the man sighed in relief, maybe he didn't want to die after all. 

"So how about we get introduced before anything goes further? I'm Izuku Midoriya and you would be?"

Daggers were eyed at his outstretched hand as was his smile. A bead of sweat trailed down his back as his body reacted to the danger, hoping to diffuse the situation before things got out of hand.

"This is the part where most people would run away."

He shrugged, hand still out stretched. Curiosity battled evenly with fear while he continued to talk.

"I've said living isn't one of my top priorities right now, besides you're actually interesting unlike most of the people I meet."

She rolled her eyes in a reluctant softening of her gaze. She clasped his hand tightly, rough calluses scratching uncomfortably on his own palm.

"Himiko, Himiko Ito. Now since I've done something you asked, mind doing something for me?"

He grinned a bit as their hands parted, still thumbing the nick on his neck. It was a rush that was for certain and who knows maybe things will get better if he sticks around.

"Depends on what it is."

The former villainess inhaled the last of her vice, throwing it on the ground and snuffing it out with the tip of her heel.

"Just wait until you sober up before you think about ending it all, and try to find at least one goal for yourself before you die."

Again, he smiled at the woman unsure of why he was so enthused about being around a person who could have killed him.

"Interesting proposition, I can go along with that but I have one question."

She raised an eyebrow at him with her hands resting in her pockets which caused a small flinch to occur while he took a step back.

"Which is?"

He was honestly starting to feel a little better the more he spoke. You were set to die anyway may as well get some use out of it.

"Would you mind if I slept it off at your place?"

Her glare returned with a vengeance as she shifted her hands along her pockets. Now this was the face of someone who had seen more than they should have and it only intrigued him more when she spoke with her voice soft and calming like a lullaby.

"I'm not a whore. I don't sleep with anyone unless I truly love them and they love me back, so don't think I'm some airhead you can use. Nobody popped my cherry yet and I intend to keep it that way for now."

He raised his hands once again, feeling a tad more jovial than he used to. He felt the need to ask himself again "why not?" Life was boring and meaningless so may as well try to do something different.

"Easy there, I'm just asking to crash on your couch since my apartment is on the other side of the city. That's alright with you?"

Himiko studied his face once more, remaining silent and almost unnerving as she did. It was akin to staring at a tiger sizing up another predator to see if there was any danger to be had.

"You have another motive for doing this, what is it?"

He laughed to try to regain some of his ease about the situation. If the knife wasn't enough to point it out, this girl wasn't exactly the picture of Mental Health.

"As I've said you are a very interesting woman and I've already stated that my social circle is practically non-existent. Is it so bad I want to get to know you a little more? It's not everyday you come across a badass ex-assassin who tries to talk sense into you."

Again she gauged him, watching every little twitch of his skin for deception. Then in an instant her expression relaxed, making her seem relieved that he appeared to be telling the truth.

"Fine but if you try anything I'll gut you."

Izuku smirked at her somewhere between fear and challenge. He actually got something he wanted tonight and that was a very big first for him.

"I bet you're a riot at parties with phrases like that."

She rolled her eyes at him, leading him somewhere to the West of the bridge while he followed after the blonde, the thoughts about his plan burning away bit by bit when he found something new to put his energy towards. He needed an adventure and in his darkest hour one presented itself to him.