Chapter Text
The HPSC’s building’s bright lights almost burned as a man walked clinically through the halls. In his hands was a briefcase, black and shiny with clean and polished leather, practically screaming ‘classified information’ to those he passed. Those who worked in headquarters passed by him, never giving more than a flick of the eyes to acknowledge his existence, but the man didn’t care; he was there to drop off the information their ‘Man on the Ground’ had sent to them, no more, and no less. Coming to the large double doors that lead into Madame President’s office, the man paused to fix his tie and check himself before knocking. Once he was presentable, he gave a quick rap on the oaken doors. “Enter,” the cool voice called from within.
The courier pushed open the heavy doors, their weight requiring a firm hand despite the well-oiled hinges that allowed them to swing silently inward. The office beyond was exactly what one would expect from the head of the Hero Public Safety Commission- immaculate, imposing, and designed to remind visitors of the power differential between themselves and the woman who sat behind the massive mahogany desk.
Madame President didn’t look up immediately. She was reviewing a document, her pen moving with precise, economical strokes as she made notations in the margins. The courier had been briefed on protocol: wait until acknowledged, speak only when spoken to, and above all, maintain absolute discretion. He stood at attention just inside the doorway, the briefcase held firmly in both hands, his posture military-straight despite never having served a day in uniform.
The office itself was a study in controlled aesthetics. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall, offering a panoramic view of the city below, though the glass was treated with some kind of reflective coating that prevented anyone from seeing in. Bookshelves lined another wall, filled with legal tomes, policy manuals, and what appeared to be first editions of various works on governance and social order. The third wall displayed commendations, photographs of Madame President with various high-ranking heroes and government officials, and a large emblem of the HPSC- a shield with a stylized hand reaching upward, grasping at stars.
“Set it on the side table,” Madame President said without looking up, gesturing with her pen toward a small table positioned near the door. “The encryption key?”
“In the inner pocket, ma’am,” the courier replied, his voice steady and professional. “Biometric lock keyed to your thumbprint only.”
“Good.” She finally looked up, her eyes sharp and assessing behind designer glasses that probably cost more than the courier made in a month. A harsh woman who was a mystery- no one knew her name, or her quirk, though many had suspicions to what theirquirk was- some kind of control quirk, something to take command, maybe mind reading, seeing as she knew everyone’s secrets before they even knew them themselves. The only thing people knew her as was only ‘Madame President’. She was younger than many expected when they first met her- perhaps in her early forties- with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and a suit that was tailored to perfection. Everything about her screamed competence, control, and an absolute unwillingness to tolerate failure.
The courier moved to the side table and set down the briefcase with care, ensuring it was positioned precisely in the center. He then stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back and waiting for dismissal.
“How was the handoff?” Madame President asked, setting down her pen and giving him her full attention now. It was unnerving, that gaze- like being examined under a microscope by someone who could see every flaw, every weakness, every secret you ever had and ever will try to hide.
“Clean, ma’am. No complications. The Man on the Ground followed protocol exactly. Dead drop at the designated location, no direct contact, no surveillance detected.”
“And their condition?”
The courier hesitated for just a fraction of a second. “The note indicated they’re maintaining cover successfully, ma’am. No suspicions from the target or associated parties.”
Madame President’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
“No, ma’am.” The courier swallowed. “The note also indicated... strain. The assignment is taking its toll. They requested consideration for extraction within the next six months.”
A thin smile crossed Madame President’s lips, though it held no warmth. “They always do. Did they provide the requested intelligence?”
“Yes, ma’am. Full dossier on the target’s movements, associations, and psychological profile. Additional intelligence on three secondary targets of interest. And...” The courier paused.
“And?”
“And information on a potential threat the Commission wasn’t previously aware of. Details are in the briefcase.”
That got her attention. Madame President stood, her chair rolling back silently on its casters, and moved to the side table. She pressed her thumb to the biometric lock, and the briefcase opened with a soft click. Inside, nestled in foam padding, was a tablet computer and several physical files sealed in tamper-evident bags.
She lifted the tablet first, powering it on and entering a lengthy password. Her eyes scanned the screen, and the courier watched as her expression shifted through several micro-expressions- interest, concern, calculation, and finally, something that might have been satisfaction.
“This is... significant,” she murmured, more to herself than to the courier. “Very significant indeed.”
She set down the tablet and picked up one of the physical files, examining the seal before setting it back down. “Tell me, how long have you been with the Commission?”
The question caught the courier off-guard. “Seven years, ma’am.”
“And in those seven years, how many classified deliveries have you made?”
“I don’t keep count, ma’am. But... many.”
“And you’ve never once been tempted to look? To peek inside one of these briefcases? To see what secrets you’re carrying through our halls?”
The courier’s throat went dry. This was a test, obviously, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous. “No, ma’am. I understand the importance of operational security. And I understand the consequences of breaching it.”
“Good answer.” Madame President returned to her desk, but she didn’t sit. Instead, she stood behind her chair, her hands resting on its back. “The Man on the Ground’s request for extraction- it’s denied. Send that through the usual channels. They have at least another year of useful service before we consider pulling them out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And I want increased satellite surveillance on the secondary targets. Discrete, of course. If any of them show signs of becoming more problematic, I want to know immediately.”
“I’ll pass that along to the appropriate department, ma’am.”
“This new threat he’s identified...” She tapped her fingers on the chair back, a rare display of something that might have been uncertainty. “I’ll need to brief the board. Schedule an emergency session for tomorrow evening. Full security protocols. No minutes taken.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
“One more thing.” Madame President’s eyes locked onto the courier’s again. “The Man on the Ground mentioned strain. In your professional opinion, based on your experience with these operations, are they at risk of compromise?”
This was dangerous territory. The courier wasn’t an analyst or a field operative. He was just a delivery man, albeit one with high-level clearance. But Madame President was asking for his opinion, which meant she valued his perspective- or was testing his judgment.
“I can’t say for certain, ma’am,” he said carefully. “But in my experience, when operatives start requesting extraction, it’s usually for a reason. The strain is real. Whether it’s enough to compromise the mission... that’s above my pay grade to assess.”
“Diplomatic answer.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice now. “But not entirely unhelpful. Very well. You’re dismissed. And remember- “
“Nothing leaves this room. I know, ma’am.”
“Good. Because if it does, I’ll know exactly where the leak originated. And you know what we do with leaks.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the same cool professionalism she brought to everything else. The courier nodded once, turned on his heel, and exited the office, pulling the heavy doors closed behind him.
=◊=
Madame President smirked, her perfectly manicured fingers trailing across the glossy photographs spread before her like a macabre deck of cards. Each image captured symbols of power across what she personally called, the Nation of Nulls- monuments, landmarks, bloodlines that had endured for generations. Cultural touchstones that the people clung to with desperate reverence.
How quaint.
How exploitable.
She paused at a photograph of the crystalline shores of Temptress Lagoon, where the Midoriya family’s city and home rose from the turquoise waters and emerald hills and mountains like a crown of jewels and jade. The ruling family stood on the city steps in the image, the young patriarch, Izuku Midoriya, the ‘Green Valley Commander’, with his green and black hair catching the tropical sunlight beside his wife, Celeste Yvon-Midoriya, the ‘Silver Cloud’s Dancer’, and a young girl about seven- clear quirk from her horn, but an unknown. But it wasn’t the Midoriyas that made her lips curl with dark satisfaction- it was the creatures beside them. The first, a massive theropod, its scales shimmering with iridescent greens and blues, its intelligent eyes fixed on the camera with unsettling awareness. The second, a large dragon, what the Nulls call a ‘Zaldrir’, ripped perfectly from the pages of an old book series back before the Pre-Quirk era. shimmering greens, jade, emerald, pine, and wings webbed in gold.
And the last reason, a massive Sauropod, long neck and all with a saddle on it’s back grazing the trees above them.
Her gaze shifted to another photograph. The Greek-akin Region of Astraeos, where the Shimura Line had ruled with quiet dignity for centuries. The current Patriarch, Tenko Shimura, stood before the shoreline on his Trireme to one of the various islands dotting the region, known as the Land of the Giants, a natural formation of living rock and prehistoric flora that predated human civilization on this continent. Beside him, as always, stood his bonded companion- a long-necked sauropod whose gentle demeanor belied its tremendous size. The Shimura was a scholar and creator, dedicating himself to building his region from stone and dust.
Then there was Dabi. The photograph of the Appalachian Highlands’ ruler was darker, grainier, as if the man himself rejected clarity in the ominous woodlands he’s claimed as his territory. He stood atop a scorched ridge, his scarred features barely visible in the shadows, but the creature beside him was unmistakable. A pyroraptor, its feathers the color of flames, its eyes burning with the same cold fire that seemed to consume its master, and a blue giant cat, a pyromane, that burned with icy fire. Dabi had seized control of the Highlands through blood and ash quashing rebellions, and his bonded beasts had been instrumental in that conquest. Allegedly, he ruled fairly and justly, but with an appearance like that, no one knew for certain.
Finally, Madame President raised an eyebrow at the last picture set before her. Her fingers paused over the final dossier. With deliberate slowness, she lifted the most clear picture and revealed the image to the light.
The young woman staring back from the photograph seemed almost innocuous at first glance- twin messy buns perched atop her head like a schoolgirl’s hasty morning preparation, blonde hair escaping in wild tendrils that framed a face that could have been pretty if not for the unsettling gleam in her golden eyes. But it was the smile that arrested attention, that transformed the image from merely unusual to genuinely disturbing. Sharp teeth, too many of them, too pointed, arranged in a grin that spoke of hunger and madness in equal measure. Beside her, a massive vampire bat- what they documented being called a Desmodus- had tilted its head, red eyes gleaming under the burning light of the desert as its pristine white fur fluttered in the breeze, blood red wings tinged black spread wide behind its rider as if to declare dominion.
“Last and certainly least, Toga Himeko,” Madame President said aloud, her voice carrying the weight of consideration. She set the photograph down with care, as if the image itself might bite. “Regional Overseer of Scorched Earth.”
Madame President leaned back in her leather chair; the photographs arranged before her in careful order. High-profile targets, every one of them. Leaders whose power was inextricably linked to those vicious beasts- those dinosaurs that should have remained buried in rock and ancient fossils, extinct curiosities for museums and textbooks. Instead, they walked the earth, bonded to humans, serving as symbols of legitimacy and power and freedom for a genetic mistake that should have been wiped out long ago.
But symbols could be broken. Bonds could be severed. And those magnificent, terrible creatures could be repurposed.
“They cling to their traditions,” Madame President murmured, her voice barely above a whisper in the empty office. “They believe their bonds make them untouchable. That their beasts make them legitimate.” Her smirk widened. “They’re half right. The beasts do confer power. But power doesn’t belong to those who inherit it. It belongs to those who seize it.”
She tapped the photograph of the city of Temptress Lagoon. “Cultural significance,” she read from the notation beside it. The city was more than a residence- it was a pilgrimage site, a place where the barriers were detected to rise and fall... but HOW? In any case, destroying it would be more than a military strike. It would be a psychological blow, a message that their old ways were ending.
Her finger moved to the Shimura notation. “Guardians of tradition. Beloved by their people.” The man’s very existence was a challenge to centralized authority. As long as the regional powers maintained their independence, their bonded beasts, their so-called legitimacy, the President’s vision of a unified nation of Hero-Society Japan under singular control would remain incomplete.
And Dabi. She lingered on his photograph longest. “Unpredictable. Dangerous. Potential asset or obstacle.” The ruler of the Appalachian Highlands was a wildcard. He had no love for tradition, no sentimental attachment to the old ways. He had taken power through force, and he maintained it the same way. In another context, he might have been an ally. But Dabi served only himself, and that made him as much a threat as the others.
(Little did she know, Dabi’s loyalty was never to be questioned and he was loved by everyone on Neo Ark, along with the other regional overseers- he was loyal to those who took him in, raged with him, cried with him, feasted with him, drank with him, and bonded with him.)
The dinosaurs in each photograph seemed to stare back at her, as if aware of her scrutiny across time and space. Magnificent creatures, truly. Apex predators and gentle giants, survivors of an age that should have ended millions of years ago. The scientists still debated how they had appeared with the continent they arrived on, and the Null people it housed as well- isolated populations in remote regions, genetic anomalies, or something more mysterious. The religious among the Nulls believed the dinosaurs were sacred, proof that the old world and the new were meant to coexist.
Madame President believed in neither mystery nor sanctity. She believed in utility.
“Director,” she spoke into the intercom, her voice crisp and commanding.
A moment later, a figure entered through the reinforced door- a tall woman in a dark uniform, her expression carefully neutral. Director Kaina Tsutsumi, head of the Commission’s Special Operations Division. The woman who was to oversee the facility in the mountains, which, when ready and at full operational functionality, would transform captured dinosaurs into instruments of the state.
“Madame President,” Kaina acknowledged with a slight bow.
“These targets,” the President gestured to the photographs. “I want operational plans for each within the month. Simultaneous strikes. We’ll dismantle their symbols, capture their beasts,and deliver our demands.”
Kaina’s eyes flickered across the images, her expression unchanging. “The Midoriyas have significant popular support. An attack on Temptress Lagoon could trigger widespread unrest.”
“Then we’ll ensure the attack appears to come from elsewhere. Dabi, perhaps. He’s already feared and hated in the coastal regions. Or we stage it as a tragic accident- a bonded beast gone rogue, turning on its masters. The Commission’s forces headed by All Might arrive too late to prevent the tragedy but just in time to ‘secure’ the creature for the safety of the public.” The President’s smile was cold. “We’ll be heroes.”
“And the Shimura leader?”
“More delicate. Tenko is beloved, as you noted. We’d need to discredit him first. Perhaps plant evidence of corruption, or better yet, proof that the bond with his beast is weakening. That the creature is becoming dangerous. We’ll offer to help, to take the sauropod into protective custody for study and treatment. Once we have it, the Shimura leader loses his primary source of legitimacy.”
“They won’t surrender their companion willingly.”
“Then we’ll take it by force and call them irresponsible for resisting. Either way, we win.” The President stood, walking to the window that overlooked the capital city. “The Nation of Nulls has challenged the might of Hero Society and Japan ever since their puny country appeared. They’ve allowed fake bonds and regional traditions to fragment what should be a unified power under us. That ends now.”
Kaina remained silent for a moment, then asked, “And Dabi?”
“Dabi is a problem that will solve itself. He must have enemies. Many enemies. We simply need to ensure that when he falls- and he will fall- we’re positioned to claim the Highlands and his pyroraptor, along with whatever else bounty that his lands provide as well as the others. A creature like that, properly controlled, would be invaluable for enforcing order in the more... resistant regions.”
She turned back to the photographs, her expression thoughtful. “These creatures should be extinct. They’re anomalies, holdovers from a world that ended long ago. But since they persist, since they exist in our world, they will serve our purposes. Not as partners or sacred companions, but as tools. Weapons. Symbols of the state’s power rather than challenges to it.”
Kaina’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Some of the handlers have expressed... concerns. About the ethics of breaking bonded pairs. The psychological trauma to both human and dinosaur can be severe.”
“Ethics,” the President repeated, as if tasting an unfamiliar word. “Director, we’re building a nation. A true nation, unified and strong, not a patchwork of regional powers clinging to ancient traditions. That requires difficult decisions. Sacrifices. If some handlers lack the stomach for necessary work, replace them with those who understand what’s at stake.”
“Yes, Madame President.”
“Good. Begin preparations immediately. I want surveillance increased on all targets. Map their routines, their security, their vulnerabilities. And Director?” The President’s eyes glinted with cold ambition. “Make sure our own bonded assets are ready. If we’re going to challenge the old powers, we’ll need to demonstrate that our methods produce superior results. I want our controlled dinosaurs to outperform their bonded counterparts in every measurable way.”
“That may be difficult. The bond between-."
“I don’t want excuses. I want results.” The President’s voice cracked like a whip. “The Midoriyas, Shimura, Dabi- they all believe their bonds make them special. Chosen. We’ll prove that technology and discipline triumph over mysticism and sentiment. Our dinosaurs will be stronger, faster, more obedient. And when the people see that, they’ll understand that the future belongs to us, not to ancient bloodlines and prehistoric beasts on a little continent that appeared out of nowhere.”
Kaina bowed again, deeper this time. “It will be done.”
“One more thing,” Madame President had Kiana pause, and the director looked back. “There have been... rumors of the Shie Hassaikai being on the move near Musutafu. Something about an asset gone missing, from what our spies say.”
Kiana’s hand stilled on the door handle, her knuckles whitening almost imperceptibly. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, though whether that was Madame President's mysterious quirk's doing or simply the weight of the information, even she couldn’t say. She turned slowly, her dark blue and pink hair catching the harsh LED light streaming through the presidential office’s tall windows that looked out at the high-ceiling corridor.
“The Shie Hassaikai,” she repeated, her voice carefully neutral. “I thought we had an understanding with them. They stay in their territory, we stay in ours.”
Madame President- with sharp eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of countless organizations- leaned back in her leather chair. The wood paneling behind her was adorned with commendations and photographs spanning decades of service. She steepled her fingers, a gesture Kiana had come to recognize as her thinking pose.
“Understandings have a way of becoming... flexible when something valuable goes missing,” the President said. “Our intelligence suggests they’ve been conducting sweeps through the industrial district. Quietly, but not quietly enough. They’re looking for someone, or something.”
“Do we know what this asset is?”
“That’s the concerning part. We don’t. The Hassaikai have been unusually tight-lipped about it, even by their standards. What we do know is that Overhaul himself has been spotted in the area. When the boss comes out personally...”
Kiana’s jaw tightened. Overhaul. Kai Chisaki. The young head of the Shie Hassaikai who had transformed the once-honorable yakuza organization into something far more sinister. A man with a quirk that could unmake and remake matter itself, and an obsession with returning the world to a time before quirks existed. She’d crossed paths with him once, years ago, before he’d fully consolidated his power. The memory of his cold, calculating gaze behind that plague mask still occasionally surfaced in her dreams.
“You think whatever they’re looking for might interfere with our operations?” Kiana asked.
“I think,” Madame President said carefully, “that when a man like Overhaul loses something he considers valuable enough to search for personally, it becomes everyone’s problem. The Hassaikai don’t just deal in drugs and protection rackets anymore. The rumors about their experiments, their research into quirk-suppressing bullets...” She trailed off meaningfully.
Kiana’s mind raced through the implications. Musutafu was already a powder keg. The city had the highest concentration of pro heroes in Japan, thanks to U.A. University's presence. It was also a hub for underground activity precisely because of that- villains were drawn to the challenge, to the opportunity to make a name for themselves. Adding the Shie Hassaikai actively searching for something in the area was like tossing a lit match into a gas station.
“You want me to investigate,” Kiana said. It wasn’t a question.
“I want you to be aware,” the President corrected. “Your primary mission hasn’t changed. But if you encounter anything related to the Hassaikai’s search, I want to know about it. Immediately. Before it becomes a situation that draws hero attention.”
“And if it already has drawn hero attention?”
Madame President’s expression hardened. “Then you exercise extreme discretion. The last thing we need is our organization getting caught in the crossfire between Overhaul and the hero community. We’ve worked too hard to maintain our neutrality, our invisibility.”
Kiana nodded slowly. The organization she served- officially unnamed, existing in the gaps between hero society and the villain underworld- had survived for decades by being useful to everyone and threatening to no one. They were information brokers, mediators, and occasionally, when necessary, problem solvers. They existed because both heroes and villains found them more valuable alive than dead.
But that delicate balance required constant maintenance.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Kiana said. “If the Hassaikai are tearing up Musutafu looking for something, someone will talk. Someone always talks.”
As the Director left, Madame President returned to her desk, gathering the photographs into a neat stack. She paused at the image of the young Midoriya child, no more than six or seven years old, standing beside a small, feathery dinosaur- a microraptor, the little girl with wilver hair and red eyes, a horn on her head, and smiling at the camera with innocent joy. The bond between them was evident even in a still image- the way the child’s hands rested on the creature’s flank, the way the dinosaur’s head tilted protectively toward its young companion.
For just a moment, something flickered in the President’s expression. Not quite regret, but perhaps recognition of what would be lost. Then her features hardened once more.
“Collateral damage,” she murmured, placing the photograph face-down on the desk. “Necessary casualties in the march toward progress.”
She activated her secure terminal, beginning to draft the executive orders that would set her plan in motion. Orders for increased military presence having satellite eyes on the targeted regions.
Madame President intended to break those bonds, to prove that sentiment was weakness and control was strength- she’s done it with many heroes over the years, her biggest success being Hawks. She would reshape this nation in her image as well as force Neo Ark into the fold with the Commission’s controlled beasts as instruments of her will.
What she didn’t yet understand- what she would learn too late- was that some bonds, once broken, could never be repaired. And that the creatures she dismissed as tools and weapons were far more than she imagined. They remembered. They mourned. And they would not forgive.
But that reckoning lay in the future. For now, Madame President smiled at her plans, confident in her vision, certain of her victory. The photographs of her targets lay before her, and in her mind, they were already defeated.
The age of bonded beasts was ending, she believed.
She was about to discover how wrong she could be.
As the courier from before walked back through the bright, sterile hallways of HPSC headquarters, he allowed himself a moment of relief. Another successful delivery. Another day of maintaining the secrets that kept hero society functioning. He didn’t know what was in that briefcase- didn’t want to know- but he understood its importance.
Somewhere out there, the Man on the Ground was still in position, still gathering intelligence, still sacrificing pieces of himself for the greater good. Or at least, for what the Commission deemed the greater good. The courier had learned long ago not to question the morality of it all. That way lay madness, or worse, unemployment.
He passed through security, surrendering his temporary access badge and submitting to a brief scan to ensure he wasn’t carrying any unauthorized materials. Then he was out, stepping into the evening air, just another anonymous figure in a city full of them.
Behind him, in her office high above the city, Madame President was already making calls, setting wheels in motion, preparing for whatever storm the Man on the Ground’s intelligence might bring. The courier didn’t envy her that burden. He was content to be a cog in the machine, reliable and unremarkable.
As he disappeared into the crowd, the lights of HPSC headquarters continued to burn bright against the darkening sky, a beacon of order in a world that constantly threatened to descend into chaos. And within those walls, secrets multiplied and festered, each one a small weight added to the scales that balanced hero society.
The Man on the Ground’s briefcase had been delivered. Its contents would shape policy, determine fates, and possibly alter the course of the Commission’s operations for years to come. But the courier would never know the details. He would simply wait for the next call, the next briefcase, the next secret to carry through those bright, burning halls.
That was his job. That was his purpose. And in the grand machinery of the Hero Public Safety Commission, every cog had its place.