Chapter Text
The Pollyanna Principle: The flawed belief that other people must share the same morals and viewpoints as oneself.
He woke up to the memory of screams.
The stench of damp garbage hung in the air, assaulting his senses as he groggily opened his eyes. A dim, sickly light flickered above, casting long shadows on the graffiti-covered walls that enclosed him. Disoriented and dishevelled, he found himself sat against a brick wall, feeling the cold touch of the pavement in the heart of a dingy alley. As he struggled to push himself up, a dull ache pulsed through his head, the remnants of those damn screams. Deep, agonising screams. They kept replaying in his mind, like… like… like something or other.
He squinted against the harshness of his surroundings, surveying the abused walls that enclosed the narrow space. He strained to make sense of it all. Where was he? Last thing he remembered, he'd been-
…
He’d been…
…
What had he been doing?
…
Who was he?
Silly question. Everyone knows who they are, right? He was-
….
He was…
…
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know.
How didn’t he KNOW?!
His heart was beating rapidly, in and out and in and out and in and out and-
“ARGHHHHH!”
Great. Now he knew one thing - his response to panic was screaming as loudly as he could. Helpful.
Rapidly shaking his head round, his eyes locked onto a large shard of glass lying on the floor beside him. That could be useful. He grabbed it, and stared directly into it. Looking back at him was a youthful man, with curly white hair and petrified red eyes. So now he knew what he looked like. That was a start, but didn’t give him much to work with. How old was he? Maybe late twenties, early thirties? He honestly had no idea. What was his Meta Ability?
… Wait. Meta Ability? Not Quirk? Wait, how did he know that Quirks were a thing in the first place?
Digging deeper into his thoughts, it became apparent that whatever had happened to him seemingly only affected his personal life. He still remembered general facts about the world. 80% of the population had a Meta- a Quirk. All Might was the number one hero. The year was 2168. That was all there. But he didn’t have the foggiest idea about anything to do with him .
He tried to stand up again. He’d need to file a police report, see if anyone could help him. As long as he could get his bearings, that would be the first step-
Oh.
Brandished on the inside of his right arm was writing. A marking of some sorts. It was clearly hastily written, with the edges all janky and wobbly, but he could still make out what it said - 死柄木 零治
“Reiji Shigaraki” .
Was that his name? It must be. It felt right, somehow. But why would he have his own name written on his arm?
He- Reiji got to his feet before-
THUNK.
He’d collapsed. God, he scarcely knew about himself, but he obviously must have been quite pathetic. What type of person can’t even stand up without immediately falling over again?
He took some deep breaths. He needed to get up, needed to get help-
“You alright there, son?”
A person! Reiji turned his head as fast as he was capable of. A diminutive elderly man, with a yellow costume. A Pro Hero! Perfect!
“I,” (was that really how he sounded?), “I need to see the police, sir.”
“Eh? What’s happened to you then?”
So he was the direct type. “Well, that’s the problem. I don’t know. I don’t know anything, really.”
The man stared at him for a few moments, as if he was sizing Reiji up. After a pregnant pause, he cleared his throat.
“What do you mean, you don’t know anything ?”
Was this guy serious? “As in, I woke up about five minutes ago and don’t have any idea who I am. My memory’s gone.”
Now that got the hero’s attention. He pulled out a wrinkly hand, gesturing for Reiji to take it. Reiji stretched himself to get his barely-functioning arm to cooperate, just about managing to make contact.
bzzz
The moment Reiji’s hand touched that of the aged hero, a shockwave seemed to ripple through his arm, into the back of his head.
“Jet.” Reiji said, completely unconsciously.
What? Where had that come from? It was like information was suddenly flying through his brain, and he couldn’t resist talking about it, and he was still going-
“Jet. Mutant. Allows the user to release air from holes in feet, obtained through the user’s breathing, propelling the user in a stra-”
“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH!”
…
What was that?
The elderly hero looked completely baffled, mirroring Reiji’s expression - they mimicked a pair of deer in headlights.
What had he just done? That was the hero’s Meta Ability. He knew that. But… but how did he know that? He’d made contact and somehow instantly knew everything there was to know about the hero’s power, with absolute certainty.
Reiji needed to rush to stumble out an apology, but he had no idea what had happened.
Wait. What if…
“I’m so sorry, sir. I… I think that was my Quirk.”
That seemed like as good of an explanation as any. What if that was his power? The ability to learn the powers of anyone else through touch? He couldn’t be sure, but it was possible.
“Ah,” he said, much quieter and seemingly more understanding, “I take it that you didn’t know you could do that?”
Thank God. “That’s right, sir.”
The hero seemed lost in thought for a second, before helping Reiji up yet again. This time, he didn’t stumble.
“So, you really don’t have any memories? At all?”
How many times was he going to have to explain this? “That’s right. All I have on me is my name, written on my arm. Reiji Shigaraki.”
Reiji stretched out his left arm, showing the hastily-written kanji.
The man read through it, pulled out his phone and seemed to fiddle with the screen for a bit, before putting it back into his pocket.
“I’ve paged the police to come and get you,” he explained, “and with any luck, they’ll be able to find who you are.”
Reiji felt a surge of relief. “Thank you so much.” He gratefully shook the man’s hand.
“No prob,” the hero called as he started walking away.
Reiji was prepared to wait in the alley until the police arrived, but he couldn’t let his hero go without knowing his name.
“Wait!” Reiji called. The hero turned his head round, an inquisitive expression on his face. “Who are you?”
The hero chuckled and came back over to shake Reiji’s hand. “Sorahiko Torino, kid. Nice to meet you. I hope you find out who you are.”
*
Many miles away, a man on a beach felt an inexplicable spike in his heart rate, as if he was being warned of some impending event. He was not the superstitious type, though, so he just brushed it off, ignoring how it had caused him to briefly stop in his tracks.
“You okay?” His student called to him, noticing his brief pause. Always so perceptive.
“I’m fine, Young Midoriya!” Toshinori reassured him. It had just been a result of his stress recently, that’s all. Nothing was really going to happen, he was sure of it.