Footwork and Cover

The van had vanished into the labyrinth of downtown alleys by the time Deku and Bakugo reached street level. Deku’s notebook flipped open before his feet fully touched the asphalt, his pen scratching across the page. "License plate: partial read, XRK- something. Black, no markings, rust on the rear left panel. Turned north on Fifth, then cut east into the warehouse district." Bakugo rolled his shoulders, the sharp crack of his joints loud in the narrow alley. "You gonna write a damn poem about it, or we gonna move?" "Moving." Deku snapped the notebook shut and pointed. "If they’re dumping stolen quirks, they’d need somewhere with a basement. Old cold storage units, maybe—block off the street access so nobody hears the screaming." His eyes flickered with rapid analysis. "Two blocks east, there’s a district of decommissioned refrigeration plants. Perfect insulation." Bakugo didn’t answer. He was already walking, hands shoved in his pockets, the glow of his palms barely visible against the dark denim. Deku fell into step beside him, a foot behind and half a beat late, the way they’d done on the rooftops. "Don’t go getting any ideas about a solo op," Bakugo said without looking at him. "You blow this because you’re too busy writing your little essay, I’m leaving you in a dumpster." "Noted." Deku’s voice was dry. "Classic teamwork from you." "Shut it." They moved in silence after that. The district smelled of rust and industrial grease, the moonlight filtering through broken skylights onto cracked concrete floors. Deku’s heart thudded against his ribs, but his breathing stayed steady. He’d trained for this. They both had. A low hum came from the third building on the left. Not machinery—something organic, electric, like a heartbeat amplified through steel wires. Bakugo stopped, his head tilting just slightly. "You hear that?" he muttered. "Yeah." Deku pressed himself against the brick wall, peering around the corner. A single door stood ajar at the loading bay, a sliver of yellow light spilling out. "That’s not a generator." "It’s a quirk. Stirring. Like it’s trapped." They exchanged a glance. No words. Just the sudden, sharp understanding that the van hadn’t escaped—it had arrived. Bakugo’s lips curved into a grim smile. "Told you the night was interesting." "This is bigger than a street bust," Deku whispered. "We need to call it in. Get backup." "And let them pack up and disappear while we wait? No." Bakugo’s palm crackled. "We scout. We confirm. Then we call it in. Got it, Deku? No heroics until we know what we’re dealing with." Deku blinked. It was the most measured thing Bakugo had said all night. "Agreed." He pulled his comms unit from his belt. "I’ll keep the channel open. First sign of a fight, I’m broadcasting our coordinates." "Fine." Bakugo moved first, low and silent, his footsteps barely disturbing the gravel. Deku followed, notebook tucked away, mind already cataloging possible exits, structural weaknesses, and enemy quirk profiles based on the van’s speed and route. They slipped through the loading bay door together, swallowed by the yellow light and the hum of stolen power.