­­Dichotomy (BNHA)

Chapter 2

   The tell-tale noise of the treadmill sounded off around the equipment room. Black sneakers stomped restlessly, heavy panting echoing off the dark brown walls. Short white hair dripped heavily in sweat, hung in clumps around the base of a tanned masculine neck, forest green eyes squinting in exhaustion at the nearly three-hour-long cardio session, clearly regretting his life decisions but never once wavering in his stride.

   "Hiroto! You've slacked off enough, come help me with the transfusion!"

   The male grunted in annoyance at the order, yanking the safety magnet off and slowing to a gradual stop along with the treadmill, reaching for a lavender-scented towel. In all honestly, the thirty-two-year-old would rather lock himself in his gym—his voice is the only one that unlocks the door, she'd never get in—than work with the women calling for him but experience has taught him to obey first and complain only in his head lest he be 'dramatic'.

   "You've extracted the plateletpheresis already?" Hiroto unnecessarily called out while wiping the sweat off his body, nodding expectantly when the woman's irate tone came through the intercoms telling him not to patronize her.

   Swiftly changing his shirt, the stalky gentleman made his way through the many corridors and down the long dark staircase. Muscle memory led him seamlessly into their basement laboratory, green eyes adjusting quickly to the contrasting dark hallway and fluorescent ceiling lights spotlighting the home workspace. He slipped on a white lab coat and gloves and strode towards the woman scribbling notes on her touchpad who wore identical clothing. She shot him a grey-eyed glare over her shoulder—no doubt in one of her moods, Hiroto concludes—her brown bob cut swishing with the motion.

   "Was three hours really necessary?" She rolled her eyes at his dismissive hand wave, "Honestly if you wanted to get in shape then two weeks before the big marathon was not when you should've started training. You're just getting poor Jericho's hopes up for no reason again." She continued to grumble, pale slender fingers tapping vigorously at the holographic keyboard.

   Hiroto grinned sarcastically from next to the bird cage in the center of the room, "You know, most wives actually encourage their husbands. But no, I just happened to get hitched to the one woman who would bully me even if I was in a coffin." He smoothly attached the IV to the unconscious sparrow's neck, monitoring the excessive blood flow from its slashed underbelly.

   The brunette mocked her husband's monologue, tossing him a bag of brown bodily liquid—the bag of concentrated platelets she prepared—and watched him finish attaching the bag to the other end of the IV. She passed him her tablet of notes as they observed the wound on the bird continue to leak excessively.

   Hiroto hummed, "This was the batch collected through apheresis, right? You didn't use Jericho's unfiltered blood again did you, Mary?" He skeptically eyed his wife, frowning in distaste when he glimpsed at her gold cross pendant around her neck.

   Mary took no offense to the suggestion as she simply swiped to the previous page on her tablet and pointed at the notes, "No. I would've needed to take more than a unit of blood from her, so I ended up taking my own and putting it through the centrifuge." She nodded at him in confirmation, "Completely purified platelets."

   The white-head nodded agreeably, "We'll have to monitor how the subject reacts to non-accelerated blood cells, but the outcome should be similar since—" he gestured matter of factly at Mary's notes.

   She fiddled with a microscope on a nearby desk, "Right, and if there's no extreme positive effect I want to try combining the platelets with some of the refined plasma. As a—"

   "—accelerating agent in place of Jericho's cells." Hiroto completed, winking at his wife with a grin, "I knew I married you for a reason!"

   Mary made a disgruntled face at her husband of twelve years, "And I'm still wondering why I said yes to your goofy ass." She huffed.

   "Aw Honey, don't be like that. You know I make you the happiest woman alive, don't go acting coy now." He slicked his shaggy white hair back and chauvinistically slithered his arms around Mary's lab coat-clad waist, "Say, when was the last time we went on a date?" He wondered curiously

   Used to his antics Mary only deadpanned at her good-for-nothing, self-absorbed husband, "Ten years ago, before we had a kid together."

   His green eyes lit up, "Ah yes, September 12, the year 4541." He sighed dreamily, veiny palms leaving her to grasp at one of the many photo frames scattered around the lab, "The happiest day of my life".

   Mary crossed her milky arms, "And when's our anniversary?" She raised a sleek brown brow.

   Hiroto scoffed, "Who cares!" His smile was borderline creepy as he smiled lovingly at the frame, "My darling baby was born on September 12th, 4541, all other days of history are irrelevant." He flamboyantly brandished the picture frame in Mary's face, "Look at her! Look at that ugly wrinkled sack of pink flesh! Look at her and tell me she isn't Kami-sama's gift to humankind!"

   Despite having heard this spiel a thousand times already, Mary can't help the fond smile that grows on her face every time she hears her husband's adoration towards their daughter. They got married fairly young, Mary was only eighteen while Hiroto Amano was barely twenty. Everyone told them they were making a mistake—they were throwing away their lives and careers by committing themselves to someone they'd only known for two months. Mary's Middle Eastern parents were appalled at her decision to marry a non-Christian and disowned her, while Hiroto's siblings cut all contact with him. Times were tough, the list of people they could trust was excessively short. For the longest time, they only had each other.

   And then came Jericho Amano. Even after all these years, Mary Amano would never dare disagree when her husband proclaims September 12th as the only relevant day in history, for she—despite being a woman of science—fully believes that Jericho is their personal blessing from God. That God took his time carefully crafting their daughter and sent his angels to personally deliver her to them.

   Maybe she's being biased and delusional but who cares. Hiroto and Mary Amano are parents who love their daughter.

   Her almond-shaped eyes trailed cautiously toward a particularly shadowed corner of the clinical laboratory. Atop the bench sat a cluster of vials, beakers, and tubes containing various amounts of blood samples. Mary treads towards the bench and picks up the paper notebook filled with haphazard theories, scribbles, and equations. Her gaze flittered between the notes and a specific red vial currently being mixed via machine a few inches away.

   She cleared her throat and called out behind her, "I see you're still working on that... project." The brunette pursed her lips as if tasting something sour.

   Placing the photo frame down with a sigh, Hiroto ruffled his hair, "I'm being careful, honey, don't worry." He made his way towards her and looked over her short head, "I've only been taking a prick of it from her every day, no more than that." He assured.

   Mary nodded hesitantly, "And you're keeping your promise that you won't inject yourself with it before being completely sure it's ready?"

   "Yes, yes, my love." He chuckled before leveling the woman with an imploring gaze, "You know all I want is to make her happy right? I would give Jericho the world if she asked for it." His green-eyed gaze moved to lock on the rotating red vial.

   Mary's own grey stare remained fixed on his paper notes, "Your love for our daughter shouldn't lead you to experiment on yourself. Especially not for a silly gold medal, Hiroto."

   His jaw clenched and his gaze grew irritated for this was an ongoing argument the couple have been having ever since Hiroto first proposed his idea. "It's not silly—"

   "Mummy! Dad!"

   Mary tilted her head towards the basement staircase, "Speaking of our blessing..." She smiled smugly at Hiroto's dejected face, all traces of their dispute vanishing, "It's eight 'o clock and you haven't made dinner yet."

   He furrowed his thick white eyebrows, "I don't understand why she still calls you mummy while I get demoted to 'dad'. What are we, Americans?" He grumbled, large feet shuffling towards the staircase, haphazardly discarding his gloves and coat in the decontamination basket. "I'll just order something. Italian good with you?" He called back at her from the base of the stairwell.

   "As long as it's not fettucine again, God knows that's all you eat." Mary dismissively let him know, starting to discard her own lab gear and disinfecting her palms in the attached sink.

   Hiroto rolled his eyes at the exaggeration, lowly mentioning his usual correction of 'It's thank Kami-sama', on his way up. "Jericho! We're getting Italian, set the table, sweetheart." He requested into the hallways once the basement door was shut behind him.

   "Not fettucine again, Dad." A high-pitched voice whined from the living room, rushed footsteps making their way into the hall.

   Hiroto awkwardly smiled down at his frowning daughter's approaching form, "Lasagna then?" he amended on his way to the kitchen.

   Following after her stamina-less father, the nine-year-old made contemplating noises, "Can you order cannolis too?" She requested with an eager grin.

   Easily agreeing to her wishes, Hiroto watched as his short little daughter fist pumped silently before speeding around the dining area to set up the table.

   After giving their home assistant—Siri—the verbal command to order their dinner, Hiroto lumbered over to the table and sat himself down at the end with a heavy sigh. Jericho came up behind him and wordlessly started putting his white hair—that matched her own mushroom-shaped hair—into small ponytails haphazardly around his scalp.

   "Say," He grimaced at a particularly harsh tug, "What's with this 'dad' business? And how come Mummy's still 'Mummy', huh?" He hummed disapprovingly, "Do I have to ban you from those American shows again? You know you get influenced so easily, sweetpea."

   Jericho groaned at how patronizing her father sounds, "No, Dad. I'm literally 10 years old now, I can't keep calling you 'papa'," She cringed, "That's so lame."

   Offended beyond belief, Hiroto went to plead his case when the sound of the front door slamming shut caught the attention of the pair. They turned their faces towards the entryway, simultaneously tilting their heads.

   "First of all, you're nine, Jericho, Your birthday isn't for another four months." Mary corrected, three takeout bags hanging off of her wrists as she made her way to the dining table. "And what did I say about using your super speed before dinner?" She scolded lightly.

   Jericho giggled sheepishly, "I know I know, 'it's dangerous to use up calories to run when I'm at my lowest before dinner', but mummy it was barely a second, I doubt that would make me faint." She attempted to negotiate while Hiroto stood to help Mary cut up the lasagna and plate the food.

   Mary frowned at her pouting daughter, "Don't be smart with me, Jericho Amano." She placed her palms on her hips, "If you keep using your quirk without sufficient calories it could seriously mess up your immune functioning permanently. Don't be reckless."

   The child scowled at her mother's patronizing tone, her gaze lowered as she stomped her way to her seat. It's not like Jericho isn't aware of all the side effects of her stupid quirk. Her parents make her go through numerous tests on her birthday to re-verify her quirk's effects on her body, only to then give her constant lectures about what she can and can't do—the same lecture she's been hearing since she was five. Jericho believes it's because her parents have no social lives of their own that they feel the need to constantly hover over her and her actions.

   But still, she grumbles, It's so annoying when she goes into doctor mode.

   Hiroto clapped to interject, "Let it go, Honey, our Jericho's a smart child. She knows, alright?" He grinned at both females, "She is the highest academic scorer in the district after all." He pridefully posed with his plate.

   Mary takes her seat and smiles in amusement when Jericho slumps down in her chair with a groan, "It's only in physics and chemistry Dad, I'm literally failing everything else." She bashfully complained with red cheeks, glaring over at her father.

   Mary chimed in while ignoring Hiroto's affronted noises, "You're not failing," she chucked lightly, "Your grades in math and English are average, geography and history are the only ones you need work in." She reached for the pitcher of water, "It's perfectly fine to excel in one field and not another. Most people remain average overall; for your best to be district-level excellence and your worst to be scores in the 50's, Jericho—you're doing amazing sweetie." She reassured her embarrassed daughter easily.

   Hiroto huffed and waved his fork around, "Geography is a dead subject anyway. When are you ever going to need to know where places are off the top of your head?" He shrugged rhetorically.

   Jericho nodded passionately, "Literally! Like hello, just look it up on your phone. Duh." She bit into her lasagna, satisfied with the geography bashing.

   "Oh yeah?" Mary hummed, "And what if you get stabbed and need a hospital but don't know where it is, and," she pointed her fork at her husband, stopping him from cutting her off, "Your phones broke so you can't look up the directions or call for someone to come help you either." She proposed.

   Jericho paused contemplatively before she shrugged, "Just bleed out, I guess."

   "Exactly." Mary nodded, "So pay attention to geography and ignore your father. His brain is only wired for his science projects."

   Jericho giggled at her mother's goading, staring mischievously at her father's offended expression, the two adults soon fell into their familiar bickering while Jericho enjoyed her food. Despite being an only child, the Amano household was almost always filled with noise of some kind. Whether that's her parents's bantering, Jericho's TV shows, or the whirring sounds of machinery from the basement, it's a house that never sleeps.

   They are lucky to have such non-problematic neighbors. The green haired mother and son duo have never once complained about the constant activity that goes on next door. Jericho remembers the various times the green haired mother next door and her mother would be sat outside on the Amano patio, sipping tea and no doubt exchanging stories about their children—seeing as both women don't seem to have their own social lives either. The woman was always nice to Jericho, bringing her a bog of sugary cookies during every visit.

   The only issue would be the woman's son. Despite being the same age, Jericho has the largest beef with the timid green-haired boy solely dating back to the theft he committed upon stealing her limited addition All Might debut action figure. The ulta-rarest of them all. Right off her shelf. And into his grubby little germ-filled arms. Well, stealing would be a strong word, her mother actually gave the boy her action figure but only after he kept ogling it and gushing facts about it. He basically stole it himself in Jericho's humble opinion. Peer pressured her mother into thinking if he didn't have it then he wouldn't be friends with her daughter, or something—That's what her mother told her happened so why wouldn't Jericho believe her? Ever since then, she's made it a point to avoid and ignore the boy.

   Inspite of her abysmal social life and friend-making skills, the young girl has rarely ever felt solitude in her nine—nearly ten—years of living largely due to her workaholic scientist parents who also have abysmal social lives and work in their modified basement laboratory—the only section of the house that Jericho is explicitly banned from entering.

   There are many days when she considers just taking a small peek. She'd be quick, barely there for a second. But every time she stares down that dark eerie staircase she loses her nerve and runs away.

   She shook her head and turned to her father, interrupting his spiel about cannibalistic geese, "Oh Dad! Did you register our names for the marathon?" She eagerly brought up.

   He grinned back at her, "Sure did! You ready to be the first father-daughter duo to win gold and silver in the Musutafu charity race?"

   Jericho cheered, "Yes! Everyone's going to be so jealous at school on Monday when they see our faces on the news!" She giggled giddily.

   Mary frowned while Hiroto giddily laughed along with his daughter. Nothing gives him more joy than being able to bring out such devious sounds of joy fro—

   "Monday?" Mary interjected abruptly cutting into their joy, "The coming Monday? The one that's in three days?" She clarified, grey eyes gazing questionably into wide purple ones.

   Jericho nodded slowly, "Yeah? I mean, the race is being live broadcasted on the news right?" she glanced at her father for confirmation, growing confused at his face of realization.

   "The race is," Hiroto paused hesitantly, "This weekend?"

   The nine year old nodded, "Yeah, it's on Sunday." When her parents shared a look of apprehension and something else, Jericho pressed on, "Why? You're not busy that day are you?" She alarmingly questioned, small palms gripping the edge of the table, "Dad, you promised we'd do this!"

   "Now Jericho—"

   "No, Mummy!" the child emotionally stopped her mother from spewing another patronizing excuse for her father, "You always do this, Dad, You're always working in your dumb lab on your dumb experiments!" She stood up from her seat to glare sadly at her father's guilty expression. "This whole week the only time you even spoke with me was at mealtime or to get samples of my blood—once again so you could focus on another science experiment."

   "Jericho, that's enough—" Mary once more tried to admonish her upset daughter but was again cut off, this time by her husband.

   "No, no it's alright, Mary." Hiroto sighed, "I'm sorry, Jer, for not showing you how much I care for you recently. You mean much more to me than those silly experiments," He cast a hesitant look at his wife, who pointedly gave him a nonverbal signal, making the man sigh, "But, maybe we can do the race next yea—?"

   Not letting him finish, Jericho speedily washed her dishes and ran upstairs. Hiroto winced at the loud resounding slam of her bedroom door. The echo bounced around the silent house.

   Hiroto pursed his lips, green gaze falling to fixate on the empty fireplace. Mary sighed at the somber atmosphere, "She'll come around, Hiroto. Just let her cool off." She dabbed her lips with a napkin, moving to take both her and her husband's plates to the sink, "Jericho just wants to spend time with you, and you focusing on that serum to enhance your speed instead made her feel ignored is all." She shot the back of his white head another pointed look from over her shoulder, "Take her to get ice cream, or to the park maybe?" She kept making suggestions but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

   Abruptly, Hiroto stood up and made his way out of the dining room. Pausing her rant to watch her tall husband march his way into the basement, Mary let out a frustrated sigh and quickly followed him after turning the dishwasher on.

   "Hiroto, you're not seriously thinking about this are you?" She rhetorically questioned, her hurried steps close behind his as he lumbered down the staircase.

   "You saw how upset she was, Mary," He shook his head with a frown.

   Mary rolled her eyes, "Yes, because you aren't spending time with her." She carefully annunciated, "That's what she cares about, Hiroto. The race was an excuse, so go up there and take your daughter to the park." She sternly narrowed her eyes at his figure that never once paused in putting on a new lab coat and gloves.

   Hiroto leveled her with a determined green gaze, "I have to finish that serum." He turned and walked towards his dark isolated experiment corner.

   The brunette woman massaged her temples in annoyance at her husband's stubbornness. She remained standing there for a few more moments, only watching his back-and-forth movements in his dark little corner, the frown on his face more prominent than before. Mary sighed in exasperation, moving to put on her own protective gear.

   Hiroto shot her a questioning glance to which Mary scoffed irately at, "If you're going to isolate yourself down here I might as well work on the regenerative serum too." She murmured, making her way to analyze the progression in the sparrow's wound.

   Hiroto pursed his lips but otherwise remained concentrated on looking through his notes and scribbling out different combinations.

   Casting him a final stare, Mary huffed quietly. She got to work documenting the increased rate of healing in the bird, noting the lack of a more significant cell regenerative speed passively.

   It's not like Mary doesn't understand her husband's frustrations and need for urgency, but at the same time she just can't comprehend why he refuses to change his point of view on the matter. She knows that winning the Musutafu Charity Race with her father was Jericho's dream since she first manifested her quirk, and Mary knows that Hiroto has been training his cardio for five years straight to make sure her dream comes true, and Mary knows that Hiroto's lupus won't let him compete in the race normally—much less allow him to win.

   She knows that the 'superspeed' serum he's trying to create is just so he's able to confidently run side-by-side with his daughter and win her those coveted gold and silver medals.

   She knows... that the serum is nowhere near completion.

   And she fears, God, she fears his blind desperation will make him go through with something that he'll regret greatly.

   Mary exhaled heavily. Her feat moved towards the table at Hiroto's left, the miniature plasma confinement chamber located in its center. As she brushed passed her husband Mary chanced a look at his workbench, grimacing at the mess of crumpled papers, spilled liquids, and contaminated Petri dishes. Hiroto cleared his throat, prompting her to feign disinterest and return her gaze to the donut-shaped confinement chamber.

   "You're adding the plasma now?" Hiroto curiously wondered.

   His wife made a noise of agreement, "I'm only extracting a gram from the main plasma orb." Tossing him a pair of protective eyewear and slipping her own goggles on. She rummaged through a drawer for the reinforced steel suction tube.

   "Right," Hiroto muttered distractedly, "Adding too much plasma to anything else would make it unstable." He looked through a microscope, scrutinizing the new reaction.

   Finally finding the tool, she installed the device to the appropriate suction machine. Moving to the chamber, she typed in the appropriate commands on the holo-keyboard and watched as the top section of the donut-like magnetized chamber slowly folded down, revealing the upper half of the charged ball of plasma pulsating in the center. Like all the times before, Mary can't help but stare transfixed at the brilliant orb of energy. Such destructive power in such a visually appealing form holds ma—

   "I've got it!" The yell pulled her from her thoughts.

   Whipping her head around to look incredulously at her husband, Mary spluttered, "Yo—W-What?"

   Hiroto swiveled around with an excited grin, eyes wide and enthralled as he brandished a small vial of pink liquid toward his wife, "The serum! I've perfected the equation!"

   Mary's almond-grey eyes widened in disbelief, "Perfected? Just two hours ago you were barely sure of the cellular components, much less the numerics, and now you've perfected it?"

   Hiroto either didn't hear her disbelief or chose to ignore it as he continued to rush around the lab, grabbing one of the syringes and beginning to extract the serum from the vial, "It was the stimulant that was messing up my equations, so I switched the caffeine to amphetamine, and voila—everything fell into place after that!" He grinned toothily, eyes reflecting the syringe as he held it up to his eye line.

   Mary's slender fingers tapped the countertop restlessly during his explanation, her eyes flitted constantly from his workbench and towards the syringe in his grip, "Test it on an animal first." She blurted out, Hiroto paused his movements to look at her questioningly, "You better not be planning on testing it on yourself, Hiroto." The brunette chided disbelievingly, brown brows furrowed deeply.

   Hiroto grimaced and avoided eye contact, "This is the only batch I have, I have to use it." He imploringly stated.

   Mary ran a hand through her short hair in frustration, "So? Just make more later." A simple solution in her opinion, seeing as he's so confident in this concoction of his.

   But the male scientist shook his head firmly, "No. I don't want to take any more of Jericho's blood." He looked down at the syringe thoughtfully, "I didn't realize it before, but from her outburst earlier she clearly associates her blood being drawn with me having hidden agendas." He clenched his jaw and leveled his wife with a steely gaze, "I never want her to feel like she's being used. She's my daughter, she exists in this world solely to be loved. And we're not going to make her feel like she isn't."

   Mary, startled, took a moment to reproachfully analyze her husband. A million thoughts wove around her mind, theories, notes, conclusions, connections, emotions, little by little it all started making slightly more sense—the enigma that is her husband.

   Even so, she narrowed her eyes, Mary won't let him make such a foolish scientific decision.

   "Then put the serum down, Hiroto." She demanded, left hand still gripping the metal suction cable, "Don't act rash simply because the race is tomorrow and you want Jericho to idolize you like she did before getting her quirk."

   He flinched like she threw a drink at him, looking stricken. "That's not..." He hesitantly trailed off.

   "Enough Hiroto. I'm not arguing with you about this, put the serum down and forget about the race. There will be other years." Mary concluded, satisfied with how the syringe was now being lowered.

   Through gritted teeth the tanned male snapped back, "That's not why I'm doing this."

   One second.

   Mary looked away for one second to readjust the—still open—plasma confinement chamber.

   One second was all it took for Hiroto Amano to pull up his sleeve and stab the inch-long syringe straight into his forearm.

   Two seconds were all it took for him to start seizing.

   As Mary's eyes widen in horror, Hiroto's body jerks and convulses with a violence that seems to defy the laws of nature. With a loud frantic curse, she rushes forward, her heart hammering in her chest as she tries to reach him. But with each thrash and spasm, he becomes a tempest of chaos, his movements sending equipment crashing to the ground in a cacophony of shattering glass and clattering metal.

   "Damnit, Hiroto, I've got you!" Mary's voice cracks with desperation as she fights against the tumult, her hands reaching out to catch him before he can do further damage—to himself and the lab. But her efforts are futile against the onslaught of his uncontrollable movements.

   Beakers shatter, their contents spilling across the floor in a swirling dance of chemicals. Blood samples topple from their precarious perches, splattering crimson against the sterile surfaces. Mary's heart lurches with each destructive collision, eyes dancing between the unstable plasma and her husband, fear clawing at her as she watches the laboratory she and Hiroto had once jumped through hoops to acquire descend into chaos.

   In a desperate bid to contain the devastation, Mary grits her teeth against the rising panic, her mind racing with a single, urgent thought: she needs help. With a trembling voice, she calls out for her daughter, her words a desperate plea for assistance.

   "Jericho! Mum—Mummy needs you here! Quickly!" Her voice echoes through the chaos, her grip struggling against her husband's larger, violently uncontrollable movements.

   Instantly in a blur of white, Jericho bursts down the staircase, eyes wide in alarm at the chaotic scene. Her fear-brimming orbs of purple locked on her father's thrashing limbs and the mess of broken glass and unknown liquid scattered around the desks and floor.

   "Da—what? Why is—" Jericho's small voice trembles in fear as she takes in the sight of her father's vacant expression and her mother's grip around his abdomen.

   But before Mary can respond, disaster strikes with a vengeance. With a wide swing of his arm and a sickening crash, a beaker of blood shatters against the open plasma confinement chamber, the crimson liquid mingling with the wild, barely restrained energy ball within. In an instant, the lab is bathed in an ominous red glow, alarms blaring and warning lights flashing as the systems detect the imminent danger of unstable energy influx.

   DANGER WARNING - EVACUATE THE FACILITY

   DANGER WARNING - EVACUATE THE FACILITY

   DANGER WARNING - EVACUATE THE FACILITY

   Mary yelled out when a stray elbow caught her temple, "The cupboard, Jericho!" The young girl jumped at the shout, "Get the bottle labeled Diazepam, ok? Grab a syringe, insert the liquid, and give the syringe to mummy, ok? Be quick for me, honey." The panicking woman attempted to convey as calmly as she could, her heavy breaths and voice crack betraying her.

   Frazzled and shaken up by the blaring alarm and flashing lights, Jericho found comfort in her mother's distressed tone. Quickly speeding and doing as ordered, Jericho maneuvered around her father's limbs and handed her mother the syringe, letting her mother inject her father. The girl's concerned tear-filled eyes blurred her vision, her ears blocked out the alarm, barely managing to catch the angry green light growing in intensity out of the corner of her eye.

   Anticipation festered inside the girl as she took a couple of hesitant steps closer. She watches the fist-sized pulsating green ball turn darker in a blindingly bright sort of way, the ball seems to swell with unchecked power, its surface crackling with tendrils of energy that writhe and twist like living things. The air hums with the sound of electricity, a palpable sense of danger hanging heavy in the air.

   "Is that a..." Jericho trails off in horror, scrawny legs stumbling away from the table.

   Suddenly she feels sick. Jericho's heart lurches in her chest as she comprehends the danger they're in. This isn't just a scientific anomaly—it's a ticking time bomb, a force of nature unleashed with unpredictable consequences—inside the basement of a suburban three bedroom home.

   DANGER WARNING - EVACUATE THE FACILITY

   DANGER WARNING - EVACUATE THE FACILITY

   "Evacuate..." She breathes out, and her chest rises and falls rapidly. 

   Jericho cast a lost look towards her father's crumpled form on her floor, her mother frantically checking his vitals while crouched over him. Jericho doubts her mother can even feel the violent shaking of the basement, much less hear the alarms with how manic her expression looks right now.

   As the reality of their peril sinks in, Jericho breathes out heavily once more. Quickly shaking out her writs and backing up into a running stance, trembling orbs drowning in insecurity, and wobbly lips pursed together.

   With a surge of adrenaline, Jericho races forward, her movements a blur of white as she reaches her parents and propels them toward the safety of the staircase. The decision is made without conscious thought, her actions driven solely by the desperate desire to escape the looming issue that threatens to consume them all.

   Mary gasped at the force, head snapping to gape at her daughter, "Wait Jeric—", but the young girl could only hear the blaring alarm shouting in her ears. She readjusted her slipping grip on their clothing and sped the rest of the way out of her childhood home, biceps burning with the weight.

   As Jericho bursts out of the crumbling house and onto the moonlit sidewalk with her parents in tow, the rush of cool night air washes over them like a soothing balm, a stark contrast to the stifling chaos they've left behind. Jericho collapsed to her knees, left hand coming to pound at her chest, lungs finally filling with air. With each ragged breath, she feels the weight of the world pressing down upon her shoulders, the enormity of what they've just narrowly escaped threatening to overwhelm her.

   Frantically scrambling to her feet, Mary let out a series of coughs, "N-no wait," she stumbled towards the front lawn, grey eyes clouded in desperation and dawning realization, "Research—the tablet!" She barely managed to choke out.

   Jericho's heart clenches with a sense of dread as she watches her mother's futile attempts to articulate her thoughts. Even from this distance, she can still hear the blaring evacuation alarm and feel the ground minutely trembling underneath her. Fear courses through her veins like ice water as she realizes the danger of returning to the house, the looming threat of explosion hovering over them like a sword poised to fall.

   Confusion and resentment swirl within Jericho's mind, a tempest of conflicting emotions that threaten to overwhelm her. Why is her mother so fixated on retrieving a mere tablet, risking her life in the process? Doesn't she understand the gravity of the situation, the very real possibility of death that hangs over them like a shroud even now? Is the research stored on her precious white tablet seriously that ingrained into her being that she can't bear part with it—even if it means death?

   Mary starts running towards the shaking house.

   Amidst the chaos of her thoughts, a single thought forms. With a conflicted grit of her teeth, Jericho rises to her feet, her muscles protesting the effort as she squares her shoulders with unsteady convictions, sweat-matted mushroom hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

   A white blur intercepts the desperate women. Mary soon finds herself unceremoniously deposited at the end of the street, her husband's limb form slumping next to her. Barely being able to open her mouth, the thirty-year-old brunette could only shield her eyes from the onslaught of dust and debris. She squinted her tear-filled distressed eyes and watched helplessly as the white blur she knows is her daughter darts instantaneously inside the crumbling building.

   Mary sobs out fearfully, her usually sharp mind reduced to a jumbled mess in the unforeseen chaos of the last few minutes. As a local hero rushes to her side, the brunette wonders how everything went so wrong. Why did this happen? Why now?

   "My daughter—" She hiccuped, "Our house, it's about to explode—My daughters in there!" Mary gripped the hero's latex-costumed collar, wide glare chiding him to do something.

   The young hero's eyes widened in alarm, gloved hand coming up to grip the woman's wrist, "Ma'am, calm down. I'm here to help, Who is this unconscious man? Which house? What explosion?" He slowly annunciated his words, gesturing to his patrolling partner to call for backup.

   Mary gritted her teeth at how slow he was responding, opening her mouth to tell them which house to get her baby from—

   Her world erupts into chaos.

   With a deafening roar, the house is consumed by a blinding flash of light, the explosion ripping through the air with a force that sends shockwaves reverberating through the earth.

   In that moment, as the ground trembles beneath her feet and the world spins out of control, Mary finds herself engulfed in a maelstrom of noise and confusion. She doesn't register the hero shouting orders at his team, doesn't register the screams reverberating through the night. The air is thick with smoke and debris, obscuring her vision as she struggles to make sense of the devastation unfolding before her eyes.

   Through tear-blurred vision, Mary watches in horror as the remnants of their home crumble to the ground, the explosion tearing through the earth with a ferocity that defies comprehension. And amidst the chaos and destruction, her heart clenches with a sense of profound loss.

   For in that moment, as the echoes of the explosion fade into silence, Mary knows that their lives will never be the same again. As she stands amidst the wreckage of their shattered dreams, her thoughts turn to Jericho, their beloved daughter, and Mary prays to both Amaterasu and God that she got out quickly enough.

   "—multiple hairline fractures along both of your femurs and your right wrist, a fractured lower rib, a torn UCL, slight possibility of a concussion, and with a little rehab I'm sure you'll regain function in your right arm soon." The flat voice finished reading off. The man snapped his book shut and leveled his patient with a guarded frown, "That's it for the good news. What say you, kid, ready to hear the rest?"

   Jericho sat hunched against the cold clinical headrest of the bed she was given. Blank wine-purple eyes transfixed on the IV connected to her wrist. Glucose. She silently notes, bandaged fingers rubbing the tube.

   She woke up a few minutes ago—alone—and almost instantly this detached doctor walked in to give her the rundown of her injuries. Jericho hasn't spoken a word once, not for lack of questions but because even now as she waits in silence for the doctor to continue her diagnosis, she feels this aching, stabbing, pain in her chest. She doesn't want to alert him of her pain until she speaks to her Mom, so she chooses to suffer silently.

   The male sighed, "Well, it's a good thing your legs are fucked—", she shot him a glare, "—because you'd want to be sitting down for this one." He scratched his head mindlessly and opened his book once more. "Thanks to that radioactive explosion you chose to play chicken with, the point-blank range should have melted the skin off your bones. Your accelerated healing rate seems to be the sole reason you are still alive—much less able to function normally," he paused to stare at her limp right arm, "Well, almost, we'll see how physio goes." He shrugged walking over to a wall with Jericho's X-rays displayed.

   "But, it seems like the atomic power from the explosion was too great even for your accelerated cells." He pointed at the one in the middle of her rib cage where—what was supposed to be her anatomically correct heart—instead showed the silhouette of a ball of yarn.

   "Whats... where's my heart?" Jericho furrowed her white brows, panic starting to bubble in her throat.

   "That is your heart," He chucked like she was being silly, "Or, more specifically, that's your heart covered in condensed radiation poisoning."

   Jericho's breath catches in her throat, the weight of the doctor's words settling over her like a heavy shroud.

   Radiation poisoning—a silent, insidious threat lurking beneath the surface, invisible yet potentially devastating in its effects. For a moment, Jericho's mind races with a flurry of questions, her thoughts spinning as she tries to process the implications of this new revelation. What does this mean? Is she dying? Will she get a heart transplant? What about her future? The race? She has a math test on Monday, will she get to redo it? What day is it?

   The pain in her chest rises to unbearable levels and she can no longer bite her cries of agony down. Her small fist starts banging at her ribcage, futile in its attempt to alleviate the pain. The doctor rushes to her side only when the heart monitor starts speeding up. He places a mask on her face, and within the next moment, Jericho starts feeling sluggish—a foreign feeling—but it puts her at ease. Her mind slows down and her posture slumps.

   As her ears faintly catch the muttered annoyances from the doctor, Jericho lets her mind wander.

   Should she be angry? She is angry. At who? Her parents? For what? Because her dad had a seizure and caused a miniature nuclear explosion? But how could she be mad at him for that when there's no way he could've controlled that. He never asked for any of that to happen—it was literally a huge accident that went way out of proportion. But then, Jericho questions what that plasma energy sphere was doing in their basement in the first place. Her parents are scientists, yeah, but she's sure that normal scientists aren't allowed to keep that much destructive power in their basement, much less use it in their experimentations.

   Jericho felt a thick lump of unease crawl up her throat when she thinks back to the vials of blood that lay broken on the lab floor. She remembers the 'Blood Drive Tuesday' tradition her parents introduced her to on her fifth birthday. And the past week, when her dad brushed out her bed hair and pricked her finger every day before breakfast.

   She squeezed her eyes shut, loathing herself for thinking this way. But what if...

   Jericho swallowed thickly. She's always thought her parents were obsessed with their jobs. Her mother's manic expression flashed in her mind. She recalls seeing her father's broad back disappearing behind the basement door. Again and again. Night after night, day after day—every memory she has of her parents ends with the sound of the basement door slamming shut.

   Who do they work for? They never told her, but Jericho also never bothered to ask. Why did they always need samples of her blood? Jericho never asked. Why do they love their job so much? Jericho never asked. Why do they not have any parents or siblings? They don't have any friends? Jericho never asked. Never asked. Never asked never asked never asked.

   Jericho doesn't know anything about her parents.

   It's with this realization that she finally allows her body to succumb to the pain it's in. Her mind slows to a halt, and she slips soundlessly to sleep.

   The next time she woke there were people in her hospital room.

   "—ust for a race?" An irate voice urged Jericho to keep her eyes shut, "You, my top scientist, jeopardized the lives of a whole neighborhood of civilian families because your ten-year-old said she wanted to win a gold medal?" The female voice seethed.

   Understanding the gist of the conversation, Jericho clenched her fists. This was finally an opportunity for her to learn about her parents. In the back of her mind, she faintly felt annoyance creep up at the attitude this woman was giving her parents, and she waited eagerly for one of them to correct the lady on her age but nothing came. No rebuttal, no admission, just silence. Jericho could feel the tension suffocating the room.

   But wait, she feels her face scrunch up involuntarily, the explosion happened because her dad wanted to do the race with her. So it wasn't an accident? But her father was seizing, how was that his fault?

   The woman clicked her tongue, "Not only that, you two idiots managed to lose two billion yen worth of research in a single day. A day!" A loud slam—like a book being dropped on the floor—resounded in the private hospital room.

   "I tried to go back for it Madam Pre—" Jericho perked up at her mother's voice, only to flinch at how emotionless she sounded.

   "I don't need excuses, Mary!" The voice barked, "That research should have been your first priority. Instead, you were playing doctor to this one's—" Jericho imagined the woman was glaring at someone, "—stupidity-induced stroke!" Oh, Jericho's father.

   She could still visualize her mother's manic desperation clearly. How she didn't care for her life, and how she didn't glance at her family at all when they got out, how focused she was on the house, she was ready to die in order to get to her tablet—

   The tablet that Jericho was too slow to retrieve intact.

   She remembers it clearly, even barely awake and slipping in and out of consciousness, laying there in the rubble as rescue heroes worked meticulously to get her out—never once did she loosen her grip on the square device.

   It broke obviously. The screen was thoroughly cracked, and the back was melted. Jericho doesn't remember why she clutched it so hard, she had already registered its uselessness. Maybe she thought it could be fixed somehow. Maybe she wanted to prove to her mom that she didn't lie to her. Maybe she wanted to punish herself because she was too slow—

   Wait, stupidity-induced?

   "You two are lucky this disaster happened at night." The woman sighed, "The Waterhose hero was the only one who knew that you knew the explosion was going to happen. We managed to pass it off as a gas leak, luckily the reinforced walls of that lab helped confine the damage to mainly below ground level, so other than the hush money we had to give Waterhose, our losses ended with the destroyed research." Jericho could hear the scowl.

   The sound of shuffling paper could be heard, "Here, sign these."

   "...Resignation forms?" Jericho's breath hitched at her father's question

   "Don't act shocked." She scoffed, "The HPSC would never employ unstable lunatics who experiment on themselves for fun." She sneered.

   Then she heard her mother gasp, to which the woman didn't waste a second, "And if you don't want your daughter to end up in foster care, I'd suggest signing the second document as well."

   Jericho froze.

   Someone slammed a table, "This is ridiculous!" her father roared, "You have no authori— "

   "You experimented using your daughter's blood." The woman snapped back. "As far as the law is concerned, you two are nowhere near fit to be housing a child." She continued ruthlessly in the silence that followed her words. "Now leave this room, I'll be out to collect the signed documents once I'm done talking to said human blood bag."

   Jericho's blood ran cold at her words. Even as she felt the eyes of her parents turn to her she dared not make a move. She doesn't know why, but the thought of speaking to her parents suddenly fills her with panic.

   Her heart monitor probably gave her away and she waits with baited breath for one of them to call out to her, but they don't. She heard her mother sigh before two footsteps shuffled out of the room. The door clicked shut, but Jericho stayed pretending.

   "Sit up, child, I'm not fond of talking to a wall." The woman ordered, the scraping noise of a chair being dragged making Jericho wince.

   Blinking her eyes open, she hesitantly shuffled into a seating position, grimacing every time the bed creaked. She allowed her gaze to scan the room, noting the lack of hospital staff—or any staff, besides the blond-haired suite-clad woman seated next to her bed. She said nothing, clearly waiting for Jericho to start talking first.

   Sniffling, Jericho cleared her throat, "I want to stay with my parents." She clenched her scraped-up palms.

   The woman hummed, "Do you now."

   Jericho locked her gaze on the woman's chin, "They aren't abusing me, the blood samples were only so they could properly analyze my quirk. They were trying to help me."

   The woman let a condescending smile creep up her face, "Is that what your underdeveloped brain concluded? Your parents are saints who dedicate their lives to cooking up ways to better understand your quirk in their laboratory, so they take your blood once every week?" She nodded sarcastically, "And how do they pay the bills? Afford your tuition? The clothes you wear, the food you eat? You think mommy and daddy can afford their lifestyle without actually working?"

   With every sharp word, Jericho feels her resolve breaking. Her nerves are fried and her face is flushed in embarrassment. She's never felt so small before. Sitting under the predatorial eyes of this blonde woman, she starts questioning her thoughts. Was she being naïve? Has she always been this dumb? After the woman pointed it out Jericho can't help but question the reliability of her perspective.

   "What's your name?" Jericho blurts out

   The woman narrowed her eyes, "I am madam president. That is what you will refer to me as from now on." She folded one leg across the other, "I'm the head of the Hero Public Safety Commission, I won't bother to go into detail, however, consider us the level above the heroes. Now," She folds her arms, "Your parents have hidden much from you, child. Everything that happened yesterday was due to their negligence." She spat. "Your father made a speed-enhancing serum,"

   Jericho's fidgeting froze.

   "Using your cells. The serum was nowhere near complete nor had he gone through animal testing, but yesterday—around 8:40pm—he used it on himself. That, combined with his preexisting lupus disease—"

   Dad has lupus?

   "—caused him to experience extreme muscle spasms and," She paused to shoot a doubtful look at the bandaged girl, "in simple terms it made him move around like crazy." She patronizingly corrected, but Jericho was too busy having a reality crisis to care for her because—her father has lupus? And she never knew? They never told her, she never asked.

   "And the plasma energy source was something your mother had asked to acquire," She shrugged, "I was simply being a dutiful superior by allowing my employees to have the equipment needed to flourish. But tell me, child, how is it that your parents are the ones who caused all of this, yet here you are," she shook her head—mockingly, Jericho would have noticed had she not been mentally occupied, "Body broken just enough to survive, only for that poisonous cloak around your heart to gradually kill you from the inside. They did this to you."

   "No," Jericho shivered anxiously, "I went back in. My mom needed the research or you wou—"

   "Your mother cared more about her job than your own safety, child." The lady cut in, "And your father used you in a selfish experiment to give himself the same abilities you thrive with."

   But her mom didn't want her to go back into the building, she wanted to keep her job so she could keep providing for her. And her dad only experimented on himself so he could win the race for her. They did all of that for Jericho.

   RIGHT?

   They did all of that for Jericho, right? Or did they? Did her dad want to do the race for her? Or himself? Was she his motivation behind making the serum? Or was she his excuse? Did her mom want that research so she could keep her job? Or did she want it because that tablet contained her life's work and she would rather die than lose all the data she got from experimenting with Jericho's blood—

   "Look, kid." The lady released another sigh, "In all honestly, your parents should be in jail right now, not down the hall signing legal papers."

   Jericho's mind came to a screeching halt.

   "However, I've known them for over a decade now. Putting them behind bars seems too harsh of a punishment for people who have..." she weighed her words, "Mental health discrepancies. But still," she shot the vacant-eyed girl a stern stare, "As the HPSC president, I cannot let you live in that household." Her eyes watched as the bedridden girl swallowed thickly, "Typically, you would be put in foster care, however as a favor to your parents, not only am I willing to assign a team of top doctors to help get rid of that radiation in your heart, I have also decided to recruit you as a future HPSC hero." She smiled (cynically) at the girl.

   A hero. The term echoed painfully around the young girl's head, fighting to find its place in the furious torrent of thoughts banging painfully inside her. Truthfully, Jericho isn't sure what to do. She's barely been able to take in the woman's whirlwind of words. She wants a minute to herself. She wants to speak to her parents, is that okay? Will Madam President let her? She won't right? Or would she?

   Jericho didn't ask.

   "You'll—" She flushed pink at her embarrassing voice crack, "You'll help find a way to get rid of the radiation? I'll live?"

   Madam President hummed good-naturedly, "You'll be their only priority. They are some of the best minds in the world, trust me, child, you won't find a solution anywhere else."

   And my parents won't go to jail? She wanted to so badly confirm. She'll still be able to see her parents? Talk to them? But does she want to talk to them?

   Jericho doesn't know she doesn't know she doesn't know shedoesntknowshedoesntknow—

   "Oh!" Madam President exclaimed, "This isn't an adoption. Legally, your parents are still your parents. The document they are currently signing is simply a restraining order—for your safety of course, and their written testimony that they are entrusting you to the HPSC. That way you can move into the facility in Harajuku as soon as you get discharged, and we can start your treatment right away. Isn't that great?" She grinned like she expected praise.

   Jericho wanted to say no. She wanted to scream and yell and throw her IV stand out the window but she didn't. Harajuku? Restraining order? But she's still their daughter, right? She still has parents? Eventually, she can go home and her parents would welcome her, right?

   "So? Ready to become a hero?" The lady extended a tanned, rough hand out to her.

   No, she doesn't, well she does, but does she? What does she want? Not a hero? A hero? The commission hero? What does she want? Did she ever want anything? This is okay right? Will she be an orphan if she says no? It's fine to follow along right? Will her parents go to jail if she says no? Just follow along, it's fine.

   Her bandaged-clad palm shot out abruptly, "Yes, I'll come with you."

   Madam President's eyes shined with mirth, "You'll be a great hero, Lynx Fortune." The devil's grin lit up her features.

A/N

Jericho for half of the chapter: "Am I... real?"

LMAO BHAAHAHAHA nah fr, miss girl's really going through an identity crisis at nine.

Okay quick notes about the chapter:

.Origin story whoop whoop

.I can't stress this enough but, you guys, perspective plays a huge role in this story. There are always three ways any action can be perceived as; your way, the other person's way, and the objective way. I want to try my hand at playing with this concept.

.You may have noticed, but the way each character is addressed—who isn't Lynx—subtly changed at different points. Just so there's no confusion, I do this to lowkey indicate whose POV the scene is being seen through. I like writing in third person because it lets me focus on different character's inner monologuing/thoughts. At the same time, I get that as a reader it's confusing at times to read abrupt shifts in focus when you may have thought you were reading from a diff character's pov, so I like to prep you guys in a way lol, by changing the way characters are addressed. Like during the end part of the chapter Hiroto and Mary were always addressed solely as father, mother, or parents because I wanted that bit to solely be focused on Jericho's perspective of everything. And during the dinner scene, I alternated between 'mother, father' and 'Hiroto, Mary', because yeah there was a focus on Jericho's thoughts, but the scene wasn't being seen from her pov, that scene was more obviously a pure third persons perspective. Anyways, moving on

.I'm wondering if any of you noticed some parallels between this chapter and the last? Mhm or some comparisons?

. Notice how the HPSC lady goes from 'woman/lady' to Madam President at the end? Heh. But then it goes back to lady? Oh, but it definitely ended with Madam President. Hmmmm. Heh.

.I don't really wanna reveal this, but there's a reason why Jericho stopped referring to Hiroto as 'papa'. It's also the same reason she started referring to Mary as 'Mom'. Heh.

.While on that topic, because I wanted to fit her origin in one large chapter I had to be really strategic with the wording and actual dialogue that I did put in. What this means is that—in this chapter—every single dialogue point has a deeper reason for being written. Heh.

.Did you notice anything about the way Jericho's behavior changed throughout the chapter? Anything strange?

Does she blame her parents? Does she blame the president? Does she trust the president? Her parents? Herself? Who knows. Certainly not Jericho lmfao. I'd love to hear your thoughts and theories!