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“Have you lost your mind?”
Vlad was absolutely steaming in the board room, face slack with a mixture of shock and disbelief, eyes searching the other faculty for an ounce of comparable outrage.
Snipe, damn him, only shrugged in response. “I like to shoot guns,” he said casually, feet up on the table like he owns the place. “Just as much as the thugs out on the street do.”
“I think it’s a grand idea,” Midnight said, eyes half lidded, already checked out of this conversation.
Blood vessels popped in Vlad’s eyes, blooming red with the power of his quirk. “Grand idea? He wants to steal an entire day of our classtime to play paintball with the hero students!”
“Bean bag rounds,” Snipe corrected. “Not paint. We aren’t teaching preschoolers here.”
“What’s the bloody difference?”
“Well, bean bag rounds hurt.”
“Hurt!” Vlad repeated, turning toward Nedzu with a dramatic wave of his arm. “He’s psychotic! Nedzu, tell him he can’t have my class or my classtime. The curriculum is already packed enough!”
Nedzu, unfettered as always, sipped his tea daintily from his perch inside Aizawa’s scarf.
Aizawa let out a low, rattling snore.
“Our students will face many dangers once they leave our halls,” Nedzu replied primly. “I wonder if we are adequately preparing them for street patrols.”
“It would be nice to have a break,” Midnight agreed. “I’m getting carpal tunnel from all these painting lessons.”
Lunch Rush raised his hand. “Will the students require lunch that day? Would a brown-bag situation suffice?”
Thirteen leaned forward to catch Principal Nedzu’s beady eye. “If Snipe gets to teach the hero students gun safety, can I have a whole day to certify them in CPR and basic life support?”
Vlad threw his hands in the air. “Why are all of you acting as though this crackpot idea is already approved?”
Snipe didn’t reply, only removed a pistol from his left boot and began to clean it.
“Yamada,” Vlad pleaded, turning toward the unusually subdued blond. “Speak sense into them.”
Mic looked up at the sound of his name, blinking owlishly. His usual shades had been swapped for much darker lenses, the bags under his eyes a telltale sign of a killer hangover. Drunk bastard. “…Will y’all need a DJ?”
Snipe tipped his hat as if to say, my man. Or perhaps, nice save, bro.
There’s a strange camaraderie between pros who did their internships in America.
Desperate, Vlad turned over his hand and pulled his trump card. “If Yagi was here, he’d agree with me! His curriculum is planned through the end of the year!”
“Allmight’s curriculum was planned for him,” Aizawa said flatly, suddenly no longer asleep as he raised his head from the table. “I’m sure he can sacrifice a day of watching his own game tape.”
“There’s value in watching game tape!” Vlad floundered.
Aizawa blinked, unimpressed. “You’re floundering.”
“Snipe’s plan is well formulated,” Nedzu said kindly, patting Shouta’s head with one tiny paw. “And remarkably detailed in its descriptions of various firearms, legal and otherwise.”
“Please,” Vlad scoffed. “He had Powerloader write that for him.”
Maijima glanced up at that, throwing his hands up as if to say, hey, man, not me. “He only used my printer. Scout’s honor. Though, I may have slipped him some blueprints of the school, now that I think about it.”
Vlad sat down, defeated. “This is happening, isn’t it?”
“Don’t look so down, Drac,” Snipe said, slipping the pistol back in his boot. “I’m sure you prepared your kids for the day they’d get shot at, right?”
Vlad slouched in his chair. “America ruined you,” he said dimly.
Snipe pulled a second pistol out of the same boot and began cleaning it on the conference table. “I like to think America optimized me.”
“This is begging for a censure from the PTA.”
Midnight’s head swiveled around. “We have a PTA?”
“…Basically, no,” Thirteen replied.
Snipe laughed.
Mic cringed, turning off his aids at the sudden pounding in his head.
“Snipe,” Nedzu said brightly. “To assauge Mr. King’s concerns, can you assure us that you will keep your training exercises age appropriate and safety conscious?”
“Of course,” Snipe agreed easily, slipping the pistol back into his boot. “I’ll keep it all reigned in. Scout’s honor.”
Vlad cradled his head in his hands. “Principal Nedzu. Please. You can’t let him do this.”
“What do you expect me to do, Kan? He has a gun,” Nedzu sighed, shrugging as though it was all beyond him. “If I can’t hope to stand against his guns, how can we expect our students survive basic patrols?”
“You’re rewarding bad behavior,” Vlad replied into his elbow, voice muffled.
“Me?” Snipe clicked the safety off a revolver he produced from God-knows-where. “I’m an angel.”
“An angel with a gun,” Vlad muttered.
Snipe smiled, the crinkled edges of his eyes barely visible under his mask. “Rest assured. Y’alls kids are in good hands.”
“Well, then,” Nedzu raised his teacup. “In the absence of Allmight and Cementoss, I hereby certify the very first annual UA High School Mass Shooting Day. Let the games begin.”
—
Aizawa-sensei was early.
That alone should have tipped them all off that something was wrong, very, very wrong, because precisely never had their sleepy hobo of a homeroom teacher been awake when they all arrived at eight o’clock on a Monday morning. He should have been curled up in his sleeping bag on the floor, the scent of hard liquor and black coffee and cheap, horrible cigarettes emanating off his body like a fuck-off shield.
But.
Aizawa sensei sat quietly at his desk, bleary-eyed and alert, when the bell rang announcing the start of the school day.
“Quiet,” he spoke, sounding bored and so over it. 1A stilled out of habit, swiveling around in their chairs and facing-front. “There’s a guest speaker this morning. Pay him the same respect you pay me. Everybody come up here and put on a set of bracelets.”
Iida raised his hand.
Aizawa ignored him.
Iida cleared his throat, stretching his arm up higher.
Shouta sighed from somewhere deep in his soul. “What?”
“Aizawa-sensei, what is the purpose of the bracelets?”
“Just put them on.”
Mina raised her hand, waving her fingers.
“Jesus Christ,” Aizawa muttered under his breath. Then, “What?”
“Are they quirk suppressant cuffs?”
“Yes.”
Tsu raised her hand next, frog tongue lolling out of her mouth.
“No more questions,” Shouta said gruffly, handing the box off to Yaoyaorozu. “Make sure everybody gets a pair.”
Momo looked down at the box in her hand, metal glinting in the fluorescent lights. Something about it unsettled her. “Yes, sensei.”
Aizawa pulled his sleeping bag over his shoulders and shuffled out of the room, already slouched over like he was planning to sleep on the floor outside.
There was a muffled commotion, two distorted voices and the shuffling of feet beyond the classroom door. Izuku and Ochako glanced at each other, just long enough for Iida to hiss at them to resume position.
Snipe strolled in, decked head to toe in his full hero costume, thick braids swinging behind him.
“Morning,” he said gruffly, settling behind Aizawa’s desk. “And howdy. For all y’all who don’t know me, I’m the third year heroics teacher here at UA. Call me Snipe.”
Iida raised his hand.
“Question already?” Snipe cocked an eyebrow under his mask. “Shoot.”
“Snipe-sensei, what is this presentation about and will it interfere with our scheduled midterm election at 0900?”
“Good question—?”
“Iida Tenya, sir.”
“Iida,” Snipe repeated, immediately thinking of another Iida he knew.
Oh, this will be fun.
Bakugo shot his hand up, already scowling. “How long’s this gonna take? I want these cuffs off. My skin’s gone dry as hell. I got cottonmouth.”
Snipe swiftly ignored him. “Today,” he intoned, “Is all about the greatest weapon in the world.”
He produced a pistol from one of his many holsters and set it down on the desk, the hard, shiny metal meeting cheap wood composite with an ominous clink.
Most of the class flinched back. Either they were unused to seeing one, or Eraserhead’s done a damn fine job of scaring the shit out of them.
Snipe whistled approvingly under his breath. Clearly, he was right to suggest a little war games for the troops. God knows a little playful shooting saved his life back in his internship days, God bless America and every beautiful gun in it.
“This here’s a Beretta pistol,” Snipe drawled, pointing at the gun in front of him. “9mm, semi-automatic. Accurate, dependable, good weight in the hand. Probably won’t see this out on the street while y’all are shot at.”
1A shifted uncertainly in their seats. Mineta turned particularly pale, rubbing his balls for comfort but they refused to stick to his hands like they should’ve.
Bakugo was quiet, but his scowl turned contemplative as if the weapon had somehow picqued his interest. Probably the explosion part, to be fair.
Snipe pulled another gun from somewhere inside his costume and set it down next to the beretta. “This here’s a gen 5 Glock. Compact, lightweight, easily concealed in street clothes. Semi-automatic, but it’s easily converted to fully automatic with something called a switch. Any idiot with a 3D printer can make one. This is the kind of illegal mods and homebrews you’ll see out on the street.”
Iida raised his hand.
“Shoot.”
“Is this presentation about firearm safety protocols?”
Snipe tipped his hat. “Sure is.”
Iida nodded sharply, locking his gaze on the weapons as if memorizing them for a test later.
Snipe pulled a third gun and set it down on the desk. This one was smaller, less sleek than the others. The handle was inlaid pearl and seemed to be engraved with Missus on one side and Yeehaw on the other. “This little lady is a Smith and Wesson 357 revolver. Powerful, high velocity, shoots a beautiful straight line. Ideal for hunting. A paragon of American engineering. Doesn’t hold as many bullets, but when you got a quirk like mine, you won’t need any extra.”
1A, bless their hearts, looked completely lost. Clearly, none of them had ever spent any substantial time around a gun before, much less three of them. Even better, none of them had put together yet why they were wearing quirk suppressors.
“I understand y’all spent the last year honing your quirks, training them for combat. But often times,”
Snipe held up the 357 and pointed it at Koda’s chest.
“Out in the real world,” Snipe continued fluidly. “None of that matters.”
Click.
Koda’s body hit the floor with a dull, heavy thud. A horrific sound left his throat, something halfway between a moan and a death rattle, air leaving his lungs in a deflating gasp.
Everyone— excluding Todoroki, the poor, dispassionate bastard— rocked dramatically backward. The less-impaired by the quirk suppressors shot to their feet, whole bodies shocked stiff like scared cats as the sound of the bullet reverberated off the walls.
There was less than half a second of silence.
Then—
“What the hell?” Bakugo shouted.
Snipe swung his arm to the side and fired again, Click, recoil sending a shockwave through his shoulder. Ochako hit the tile with a dull thud, gasping for air, hands flailing uselessly as she searched for blood, injury, something. Mina lunged out of her chair with a shocked cry, grasping at her friend.
“Ribbit,” Tsu let out a choked sound, trying and failing to eflux her tongue.
Snipe tilted his head, voice distorted under his mask. “One gunman opens fire in a crowded space. Caught off guard, y’all and every civilian there’s dead meat.”
Click. Kirishima yelped, surging to the floor in a tangle of jerking limbs and red hair that looked too much like blood.
“Pushing up daisies.”
Click. Sato’s body struck the tile with a heavy thud.
“Ground chuck on the floor.”
Click. Aoyama cried out, collapsing forward at his waist with a series of horrible, pained coughs.
“Pig food.”
Click. Izuku yelped and choked, his body hitting the tile so hard that he toppled over three nearby desks, sending his classmates scrambling to their feet.
“Hey!” Bakugo yelled. “We get it!”
“Mr. Snipe!” Iida shouted, already on his feet but strangely uncoordinated without the familiar vibration of his engines. “This is highly inappropriate conduct for a UA teacher. Is this a board-approved training exercise?”
Click. Mina let out a strangled shriek. Her back hit the desk behind her and collapsed them like a row of dominoes, her classmates shouting as they tried, fruitlessly, to leap out of the way.
Snipe reloaded the revolver with a practiced spin of his hand. “Welcome to the real world, kids. Well, as real as it gets.”
Click. Tsuyu screamed and choked, her body sent rolling over itself until it hit the nearest wall.
Snipe holstered the beretta and the glock, concealing them in his hero costume as 1A tried to process the shock of getting shot by blanks. “Today, y’all are up against the great equalizer— one mad gunman and his arsenal of firearms. Avoid getting shot, and we’ll call that a win.”
Kaminari huddled under his desk, pale as a corpse and literally shaking. “Why?”
Snipe clicked his tongue, aiming his revolver at the base of Denki’s neck. “As they say in the ol’ US of A, experience is life’s greatest teacher.”
Click.
Kaminari dropped to the tile and cried out, clutching at his chest as a black bruise bloomed on his collar. Jirou lurched back in her chair while Sero slid messily under his desk, pounding at his elbows out of habit, but no tape came. Even Momo looked rattled, frozen in place with her face corpse-pale and her hair standing on end.
“I quit,” Mineta announced in a panic. “I drop out. You’re not shooting me with those things!”
Click.
Mineta screeched, purple head hitting tile as he fell, flailing, an ugly bruise forming where his grapes, suddenly no longer sticky, couldn’t shield him from the impact.
Jirou cringed despite herself, hands flying to her ear jacks, which dangled limp and useless from her skull. Bakugo stomped on his own wrist, teeth gritted, trying in vain to break open the quirk suppressant cuffs.
“Kacchan,” Izuku wheezed, barely audible. “Stop, Kacchan, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”
“Is this a training exercise?” Momo asked awkwardly, voice quiet and hand barely raised.
Bakugo forced himself onto his feet and lurched forward, Click, only to collapse at his waist and howl in pain like he’d just struck an invisible wall.
“Word of advice, Dynamight,” Snipe drawled. “Don’t rush a gun head-on. Keep a cool head to keep on living.”
Katsuki glared, wind fully knocked out him, clutching at the floor like he’d rather be strangling Snipe if he could just get up off the ground.
Snipe reloaded his revolver. “Survive the day,” he said casually, “And Lunch Rush’ll reward y’all with a nice meal. The tylenol comes free on the side.”
Click. Shoji gasped with six mouths, lungs deflating from the sudden pressure as the bulk of him fell sideways and toppled two desks with a metallic clatter.
Tokoyami shot upward, clawing for Dark Shadow, who didn’t respond.
“Go on, now,” Snipe said casually, producing a second revolver from under his ruana. This one was engraved with Yeowch. “Get.”
The entire class stared, blinking dumbly.
Snipe aimed both revolvers. “Run, kids. Run, before I blow the skulls clean off y’alls necks.”
—
Half of 1A ended up in the cafeteria, the other half split off God-knows-where. Izuku tried hard to keep Kacchan in his sights as he ran but the blond was fast. Very fast, and he never looked back even once to see if anyone was still following him. Izuku, Iida, Katsuki, Shoji, and Denki ended up in a malformed circle on the mezzanine, searching for some kind of cover from the madman with four guns.
The echoes of shots behind them quieted, sounding farther and farther away.
Izuku breathed hard. Snipe must have followed the other half of their class. The thought filled him with dread and the bitter taste of oncoming failure. He could only hope Shouto and Ochako made it somewhere safe.
Throngs of second year hero students huddled on the mezzanine, as if the higher ground might save them. They were sporting suppressor cuffs, bruises of various sizes, and facial expressions that could only be described as traumatized and miserable.
“Snipe’s got the whole hero course on his shit list, huh?” Katsuki muttered, scowling. “Fuckin’ asshole.”
“They’ve gone insane,” Some second year guy complained, metal gears sticking out of his back. “The doors are locked. The whole campus is shut down. Our teachers have gone absolutely batshit insane!”
“I think it’s just Snipe,” The girl next to him replied. Her eye sockets were empty. “I haven’t seen any other faculty.”
Another girl looked up, shock on her scaly, green-blue fish face. “That’s just Snipe out there? He took out the entire third year in, like, two seconds!”
Eyeless nodded, picking uselessly at her quirk suppressor cuffs. “I heard the rest of the faculty took the day off.”
“We’re locked in the school with Snipe?”
“And Recovery Girl,” Eyeless said.
“Oh, and Recovery Girl,” Fishhead rolled her eyes. “I feel so much better now. Thanks a fucking bunch.”
“Fine, Jesus, I was just sharing information. You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”
Fish girl sighed. “God, I’m sorry. Snipe-sensei shot me in the shoulder and it’s got me in a fucking terrible mood.”
“No!” Eyeless replied. “No, I’m sorry. He got me in the back. We’re all in a terrible mood. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry!”
“Ha,” Gears guy scoffed, clutching his bruised stomach. “Gay.”
The two girls rolled their eyes, empty orbit skin rippling for the eyeless one.
“I got a text from Oshiro,” a third girl said, squinting at her phone. “Business and Support are at the hero history museum downtown.”
“Business and Support got to go to a museum?”
“Fuck, we need to unionize,” Gears groaned. “This is total bullshit.”
“We need an adult,” Fishhead snapped. “Where is the principal? Fuck, I’d even take a janitor at this point!”
(Somewhere deep in the bowels of the UA high school HVAC system, Principal Nedzu nibbled on popcorn as he scrolled through the security feeds. He giggled.)
Click.
Fishhead screamed, hitting the tile as the sound of the blank echoed in the chamber of the cafeteria.
Click.
Gears swore. He collapsed sideways, knocking over a fake potted monstera as he went rolling with the force of the shot.
“Cover!” Bakugo shouted, grabbing whoever happened to be standing next to him. “Take cover!”
Iida looked down at Bakugo’s hand gripping his bicep, utterly baffled.
“Move, nerd!” Bakugo sneered, dragging Iida toward an air vent in the corner.
Snipe let out a mad laugh, from somewhere— God, from somewhere below them, and wasn’t that fucking backwards— and six more shots rang out in quick succession, scattering all the students on the mezzanine in a thundering lurch of screams and shouts.
Izuku went to follow, when—
Click.
Izuku went sprawling forward, face first onto the tile, feeling like something had carved a skull-sized crater into the middle of his back.
“Deku!” Kacchan yelled, from somewhere that Izuku couldn’t even begin to locate.
Click. Shoji cried out, the upper half of him jerking uselessly against the force of the shot, sending him to the flow with a pained wheeze. He collapsed onto Izuku, almost crushing him with his extra limbs.
Katsuki and Iida veered into a corner of the mezzanine.
Izuku, blind, ran in the opposite direction.
“Deku!” Bakugo shouted again, only to be drowned out by six more shots reverberating on the walls.
Most of the second years ran for the lower level, probably to try to get into the kitchen for cover. Snipe’s aim followed, more shots echoing off the walls.
“Bakugo,” Iida spoke. “Remove your hand from my arm. The imminent danger has passed.”
Katsuki started. “Shut it, Glasses,” he muttered, but he withdrew his hand.
Iida’s brow furrowed. “My name is Iida Tenya. I am your classmate.”
“Harness the power of your high-speed autism and open this fucking vent before I blow your ass to hell.”
“I am not diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Turbodick. Just open the vent while I cover your ass.”
Confused, Iida turned to look at his behind. “My posterior is adequately covered.”
“I’m gonna cover you from his suppressive fire, genius.”
“Ah, I understand,” Iida nodded sagely. “It was a hoodlum vernacular.”
“Eh? I’m not a fuckin’ hoodlum!”
“Chapter eight, section five of the UA student handbook: UA students are not to conduct themselves poorly while wearing branded UA merchandise. You cannot swear while wearing your UA branded uniform, Bakugo.”
There’s a solid second where Katsuki genuinely considers stripping naked, it’s clear in his eyes.
Iida, of course, doesn’t pick up on it. “Now, apologize.”
“…Sorry,” Bakugo gritted out, like the act physically pained him.
“Much better.”
“Don’t fuckin’—“ Katsuki cut himself off at Iida’s sudden sharp glare. “Don’t patronize me,” he corrected, almost hissing.
Iida was unfettered. “My apologies, Bakugo. I will speak to you as an equal in the future.”
“We are not fuckin’— we are not equals. You could never get on my level. Sonic the No-hog.”
“Bakugo, my name is Iida Tenya. Please refrain from using other monikers.”
“Jesus f— Jesus Christ,” Katsuki seethed. “Fine. I’ll open up the vent, you go shield the NPCs.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Our classmates,” Bakugo emphasized. “Keep that assh— keep Snipe from shooting them.”
“My engines are non-functional.”
“So?” Katsuki’s eyes roved Iida’s body up and down. “You got bulk. Mass. You’re a fuckin’— you’re an absolute unit. Just go stand in front of them.”
“Sacrifice myself for my classmates,” Iida intoned. He drew himself upward. “An honorable objective. I will reconvene with you in the vents at your signal.”
Katsuki’s eyes barely flickered up. “Fine, sure, whatever.”
Iida ran off, gait fragmented and erratic, unused to moving muscle without engine.
Damn suppressor cuffs and whoever invented them, Katsuki seethed, beating his forearm against the vent cover. Damn them to hell. He leapt onto his feet and began to kick, forcing the vent cover to swing open with a well-aimed strike of his heel.
“Iida!” he shouted.
Tenya was at his shoulder in seconds.
“Where’s the rest of them?”
“They scattered to the kitchens against my advice. Snipe-sensei has moved to the corridor.”
“Damn it,” Katsuki muttered.
“Bakugo, language!”
“Just shut up and get in here.”
“Go, Bakugo. I will cover you.”
“Fine, Jesus.” Katsuki crawled head first into the vent, cottonmouth suddenly made so much worse as he hit a wall of dust and airborne lint.
“Are you alright, Bakugo?”
“Yes!” Katsuki coughed furiously. “I’m fine!”
There was a metallic clank as the vent cover closed behind them.
“We should head toward the nearest gymnasium,” Tenya said.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Speedy Gonzales, there’s not exactly a f— there’s not exactly a map in here.”
The vent suddenly narrowed significantly and Katsuki stopped cold.
“Ouch!” Iida announced, nose striking the back of Bakugo’s neck and somehow finding himself halfway on top of him.
“What are you doing?” Katsuki snarled. “Get off!”
“My apologies, Bakugo! I was not prepared for the sudden stricture in the vent!”
“Get off!”
Tenya shifted backward, struggling to untangle himself from Katsuki’s legs. “This is difficult for me to admit, Bakugo, but we made an efficient team out there.”
“Shut up,” Katsuki muttered. “And get your leg off my dick!”
“My apologies, Bakugo. Allow me to correct this misconduct.”
“Just move.”
Iida tried to shimmy himself off of Bakugo’s back, but only succeeded in trapping his legs on top of Katsuki’s chest.
“Oi!” Bakugo snapped, trying and failing to shove him off. Katsuki lunged upward, curling around in the vent, getting stuck all over again.
“My apologies, Bakugo!”
“Shut up!”
“Please, allow me!” Iida pushed his hips back and Katsuki’s head dropped, forcing his face into Iida’s knee.
Iida let out a sharp exhale. “It appears our movements are only making our situation worse.”
“Oh, you think?” Bakugo grunted, unable to turn his neck out from Tenya’s thigh.
“We should stay still and strategize.”
“You strategize,” Katsuki snapped. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Ahem.”
Katsuki and Iida started, both frozen in fear, all of their limbs tangled in a compromising position.
There was a small, bear-like figure crouched at the next stricture in the vent.
Tenya swallowed hard and adjust his glasses. “My apologies, Principal Nedzu!”
Principal Nedzu glanced up, beady rodent face illuminated by the ominous blue glow of the security feeds. His voice was grave. “Get out of my vents.”
They scrambled to comply.
—
Izuku found himself in the wing of faculty offices by sheer accident, honest. And it was totally incidental how Ochako’s hairpin ended up in his hand, jammed in the doorframe of the office labeled SNIPE, Texan flag on the door and everything.
Izuku slipped inside, shoving the hairpin across the back of his head, concealing it in his curls.
He’s gotta get these damn cuffs off.
Izuku started with the file cabinet. He rifled through the top drawer, searching for something, anything, that could help. But with quirk suppressors on, Danger Sense failed to alert him.
“Howdy.”
Izuku almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled around, arms flying up to shield himself out of habit.
Snipe tilted his head. “Find what you’re looking for?”
Izuku’s mouth opened, and closed, opened, and closed. “…I just thought—“
“Thought you’d hide in the last place I’d look. Or maybe you thought you could find keys to those cuffs.”
Izuku nodded mutely.
“Clever. Unfortunately, this is also where I keep my guns.”
“…Right,” Izuku said sheepishly, mortified beyond belief. “Sorry.”
Snipe shrugged. He moved toward his desk, pulling open a drawer. “You’re one of Eraser’s kids.”
Izuku’s eyes carefully followed Snipe’s hands, as if he might suddenly reach for a revolver and rip Izuku a new hole. It was putting a real damper on Izuku’s overeager fanboy instincts. “…Yeah.”
“How’d you get in here?”
“Oh!” Izuku rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling the dull metal edge. “Uh, hairpin.”
“Hairpin?” Snipe drawled. “UA’s great security measures foiled by a hairpin?”
“It’s titanium alloy from a spaceship,” Izuku mumbled, equal parts defensive and apologetic.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, Midoriya. Izuku,” He corrected in a rush. “Midoriya Izuku. I think your quirk is so cool!”
Snipe flicked open a box of 38s on his desk. “Thanks.”
“You know, there’s—“ Izuku’s nervous-rambling now, he can’t help it, he’s just been caught breaking into a pro hero’s office and the pro hero has a gun. “There’s a theory that you’re actually quirkless.”
Snipe paused. He glanced up, eye mask glinting in the light.
“Not that your quirk isn’t impressive!” Izuku rushed out, hands flailing apologetically. “That’s not what I mean! You’re really, really cool! It’s just, you know, some people think that what you do is just… skill, and not a quirk.”
Snipe’s voice came out guarded. Flat. “Is that right?”
“I don’t mean it like that!” Izuku cried. “It’s just, you know, I’m quirkless, so I— well, not anymore! But I used to be— quirkless, I mean, I’m a really late bloomer, like a really late bloomer, so I thought it was really… cool? That you could be quirkless, too, I mean. Even if it wasn’t true.”
Snipe was quiet for a moment. Then, he shrugged. “With a gun in your face, we’re all quirkless.”
Midoriya blinked.
Snipe held out his Yeowch revolver, handle-first. “Care to take her for a spin?”
Slowly, Izuku reached out and took the gun. It fit perfectly in his hand. It was even warm, from where Snipe had been holding it. Izuku looked up, uncertain. “…I won’t hurt anyone?”
“Nah, it’s all blanks. Doubt you’ll hit anyone without any practice, anyway.”
“What are you going to do if I take your revolvers?”
Snipe pulled out a shotgun from God-knows-where. “Don’t worry about me. I got plans. Big plans.”
Izuku grew pale. “…What are you going to do with that?”
Snipe withdrew a saw from the underside of his desk.
Why? Izuku wanted so badly to ask, but he didn’t dare.
“We’re gonna teach your classmates a lesson,” Snipe answered. He dug the blade into the shotgun and began to saw back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, stepping on the end of the barrel hard for leverage.
Izuku watched, blinking owlishly. “Isn’t that illegal, Snipe-sensei?”
“Only if it’s a real shotgun.”
“And that isn’t?”
“Well, it’s not real anymore.”
“That isn’t going to hurt anyone either?”
“It’s a training exercise, Midoriya. Little dose of the real world. It’s all bean bag rounds. It’s a big show. You’re just pretending to be the bad guy.”
“…Right,” Izuku said weakly.
“Go ahead,” Snipe said, glancing upward. “Give it a shot. You’ve seen Westerns, right? Safety’s off. Aim for my chest and fire away.”
Click.
Oh, fuck.
There’s no word for how you feel the very first time you shoot a gun, but Midoriya, awestruck, said the first one that came to mind.
“Wow.”
Snipe chuckled. He kicked off the end of the shotgun, barrel clattering to the floor, then he regarded the divet in the wall behind his shoulder where Izuku missed. “Close,” he drawled, “But no dice. Brace your shoulder, leave just a little give in your elbow. Close one eye and really focus in. You’ll feel it in your gut when it’s right. When it’s right, you pull that trigger immediately.”
Click.
Izuku gasped at the recoil, shoulder jerking back in its socket.
Snipe leaned over, fist rubbing circles into his lateral chest. “Not bad, kid,” he said, sounding almost proud. “Not bad at all. Say, how old are you?”
“Oh! Uh, fifteen?”
“Not old enough to apply for a concealed carry,” Snipe mumbled, “But old enough to file an exception with a provisional hero license, maybe for nonlethal rounds—“
“Uh, Snipe-sensei? Sir?”
Snipe snapped out of it. “Get out there and shoot your classmates. Here’s a couple boxes of blanks. That revolver you got fits the special 38s, too, so that’s a real nice perk. American engineering. Can’t beat it.”
“Sir, you want me to shoot my classmates?”
“You want to shoot your classmates. To help them learn.”
“To help them learn,” Izuku repeated slowly. “Sorry, what are we learning?”
“Survival, kid. If y’all want even a slim chance of surviving your first year as a pro, all y’all gotta learn a thing or two about guns. God knows thugs are gonna shove ‘em in your face often enough. Totally unexpected, too. Gotta be ready.”
“Oh. That makes… sense.”
“‘Course it does.” Snipe held out his other revolver, the one with Missus and Yeehaw carved into the handle. “Take this one, too. Two guns are always better than one.”
“…Yes, sir?”
“Good man. Now get out there and teach your classmates a lesson they won’t soon forget.”
—
Izuku ended up in a main corridor, ten blanks lighter and a pile of groaning third years behind him.
“Sorry, Togota! Amajiki! It’s just part of the exercise, I swear!”
Mirio groaned, holding up a shaky thumbs up. “That’s okay, little dude!” He gasped, wheezing. “You’re doing great!”
“I wanna go home,” Tamaki mumbled into the floor.
“Soon, buddy!” Mirio tried, and failed, to pat him on the head. Grimacing, he settled for a comforting thigh tap instead.
Tamaki groaned.
Izuku kept running, aiming haphazardly at a second year who came out of a classroom at the wrong time.
Click. The boy yelped, hitting the tile with a gasp.
“Deku!” Bakugo shouted, half-gasp half-yell from the other end of the corridor. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry, Kacchan!” Izuku yelled back, aiming Snipe’s revolver at a 1B student as they rounded the corner. “I’m helping you learn!”
“Learn what?”
“Uh, paranoia, I think. No— being ready! Expecting the unexpected!”
Tenya crouched behind a potted plant. “This betrayal is most unexpected, Midoriya!”
“I’m sorry, Iida!”
“That’s alright, Midoriya! You have fine aim!”
Midoriya turned around and was immediately startled at the sight of Shouto in front of him. “Oh!” Izuku cried. “Todoroki? What are you doing here?”
“Following you.”
Izuku stared. “…Would you like a gun?”
“I would.”
Izuku held out the Missus revolver. “Do you know how to shoot it?”
“I do.”
Click.
The same 1B student went sprawling over himself, cursing aloud as the shot struck him down again.
Oh, shit, Izuku thought. That’s Monoma.
Katsuki watched the scene with a sense of loss. He glanced at Tenya. “Back in the vents?”
Iida looked over at Midoriya and Todoroki, and weighed the two of them against Principal Nedzu. He factored in the guns. Then, he spoke decidedly. “Back in the vents.”
—
The speaker system eventually crackled to life. “Good afternoon, hero students!” Nedzu’s voice, unusually cheery, rang out in every room. “This is your principal speaking. The mass shooting training exercise has concluded. Please gather in the atrium for debrief.”
Half of 1A was already there, having given up on running. Midoriya and Todoroki joined them quietly, suffering glares from the second years and 1B. Shinsou, however, tilted his head at Monoma’s bruises and sent Izuku a salute.
Mina fanned herself. She was flushed red from exertion but her skin looked painfully dry, unable to produce its natural acids. “I can’t believe that man is allowed to teach children. Like, he’s a teacher.”
“Something to look forward to when we’re third years,” Momo muttered, nursing a huge bruise on her arm from a bean bag round.
“Where’s the grapist?” Jirou asked. She cradled her bruised arm with an ice pack from Recovery Girl.
Hagakure, invisible enough to avoid putting on the quirk suppressor cuffs but solid enough to still catch a few strays, scoffed at that. “Who cares? Maybe one of those bullets put him down for good.”
“Iida, Bakugo,” Kaminari suddenly said. “Where have you been?”
Katsuki and Tenya appeared at the edge of the group, uniforms wrinkled and covered in vent dust.
Katsuki said, “None of your fuckin’ business, Energizer,” at the same time Tenya announced, “Participating in the exercise, of course!”
“Right,” Denki said slowly. “But the two of you were gone for a really long time, and—“
Katsuki fixed him with a death glare that could curdle milk. “Shut up, spark plugs.”
“Right! Sorry!”
“Bakubro,” Kirishima said. “Come sit down!”
Katsuki sat, grumbling. Tenya sat directly next to him, earning a cocked eyebrow from Sero.
A heavy crack! outside the double doors was the only warning they received.
“I am here!” Allmight announced, striking a heroic pose as he came through the door. “What have I missed?”
One hundred hero students blinked wearily back at him, dead-tired, all holding some version of an icepack to their aching necks and chests.
“Nedzu let the gun nut loose on the hero course,” Aizawa mumbled into his scarf.
“Ah!” Allmight replied, his smile stiff as hard plastic. “Oh no!”
“There were casualties.”
“…Oh no!”
“He shot my plants,” Vlad muttered darkly. “I’ll have to re-pot everything this weekend. Clay doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”
“Sorry about that, King,” Snipe said smoothly. He finally holstered his pistols, concealing them easily.
“We’ll discuss it at home,” Vlad whispered through gritted teeth.
Snipe raised his voice at the assembled hero course. “What’d y’all learn today?”
“OFFENSE IS THE BEST DEFENSE, SIR!” The third years shouted, sounding so desensitized to their sensei. The second and first years startled, baffled and caught off guard.
Snipe was unfettered. “And?”
“ALWAYS EXPECT THE ENEMY TO BE ARMED, SIR!”
“That’s right. One more, y’all, give it to me. Nice and loud.”
“FLIGHT IS NOT AN OPTION, SIR! FIGHT OR DIE, SIR!”
Snipe tipped his hat. “I’m sure y’all learned a little something about reaction and mass shooting crimes that y’all will take into your future careers as pros. Keep your head on a swivel and never let your guard down, not even in familiar environments. Especially not in familiar environments. Never get comfortable. Alright, any questions?”
Izuku raised his hand awkwardly. “Uh, Snipe-sensei, sir?”
“Yeah, Midoriya?”
“Do you, maybe, know anyone who’s taking interns in the United States? For this summer, I mean.”
Snipe smiled under his mask. “Sure do. I’ll get the paperwork together and make some calls.”
Allmight blinked, stiff smile blank. “I’m sorry, what just happened?”
Snipe tipped his hat, sounding so smug. “The American spirit just poached your favorite student for the whole summer.”
“What?” Allmight lagged. “I’m sorry, I don’t—“
“Midoriya’s going to America,” Aizawa said flatly. “For the whole summer. To shoot guns.”
“Oh!” Allmight replied. “Oh, no!”
Snipe kicked his feet up on the table and addressed the whole crowd of hero students. “Anyone else want an internship in the US of A? I got some old friends who would just love to teach y’all a thing or two about the greatest weapon on planet earth.”
Todoroki slowly raised his hand. “I would like to shoot a gun.”
Oh, eat shit, Endeavor. “And you will. Now, everybody get up and go eat Lunch Rush’s lunch he made y’all— hamburgers and freedom fries on a George Foreman grill.”