Chapter Text
Keendick rummaged through the illicit goods in the truck while Storm…stood around looking self-important or something, Shouta really wasn’t paying attention. He wanted a nap. Or death. Or death and a nap. Just something to put him out of his misery of having to deal with those two fuckwads.
“"Well, they've certainly got some interesting stuff in here. Hey, Eraser. You ever seen one of these?"
Shouta’s eyes snapped to Keendart, who was shaking a very recognizable canister: dark, metallic, and with a distinct red mark on it.
Ichor.
The drug was not only illegal but downright horrendous. If inhaled by an omega, it would cause a very sudden and very painful pseudoheat.
…and Shouta was an omega.
Shouta tensed, not liking the smug grin on Dart’s face or the way Storm watched their interaction with interest.
The asshole beta continued to poke at Shouta, clearly trying to provoke him, while Stormwall joined in, adding his disgusting comments to the one-sided conversation.
And then Keendart mimed throwing it and Shouta nearly jumped out of his own skin. His very visible flinch set the two off.
"Ha! Wow , he actually thinks I'll throw it. I'm wounded that you think so little of me, Eraser. I was only playing ,” Dart had the audacity to put on a fake hurt expression.
“That’s no way to treat your teammate,” Storm admonished, and really these two fuckers were asking for it.
Perhaps a life on the run wouldn’t be too bad. Two murders and then bam, he could hit the streets and never look back. No more bastard coworkers, no more inappropriate teasing…
But no, Shouta was a hero and heroes didn’t get to do a little murder, even as a treat.
A shame.
Shouta sighed and ignored them, turning away now that Dart had lowered the canister and the two clowns’ focus was on something as worthless to Shouta as decorum. They might as well be trying to convince a rock to have manners, really.
It was a mistake–one he realized almost immediately.
He just barely caught sight of the blur that headed towards him, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he was a trained hero with incredibly fast reflexes. It didn’t matter that in any other situation, he would’ve had enough time–as little as it was–to dodge. It didn’t matter, because Keendart’s quirk let him hit anything with 100% accuracy, so long as he threw the projectile.
The canister smacked him in the head…
…and then fell to the ground with a clunk.
Shouta looked down, frowning as the thing rolled past his feet, entirely intact with that dreaded Ichor still safe behind a sealing mechanism.
For a moment, everyone was perfectly silent.
Closing his eyes, Shouta inhaled deeply. Slowly.
And then: “One.”
“Wait, it was an accident!” Dart pleaded.
“Two,” Shouta reached up to wrap his hands around his capture weapon. He felt the ends of his hair brush against his face as it and the carbon-fiber alloy began to float.
“Hold on a second,” Storm tried.
“I’m only counting to three,” Shouta warned them.
“Oh fuck.” “Shit.”
“Three.”
His eyes snapped open and he lunged.
“FUCK FUCK FUCK! RUN!”