Chapter Text
Two years ago, everything changed. Two years ago, the first person turned. Two years ago, a virus, often a topic of fiction, broke out. Two years ago, Izuku Midoriya was a normal middle school boy. Two years ago, he took a life and at that very moment, within the span of two seconds, he became an orphan.
--
Izuku tore down the hallway, leaping over fallen crates and bins. A torrent of curses and profanities escaped his lips in a frantic symphony of frustration. He spun left, then right. Following the hallway pattern as far as he could until he could turn no further.
With little to no time left, Izuku hurriedly opened the first door he found and leapt into the room. He ducked behind what appeared to be a kitchen counter, pressing his back against it as he tried to control his breathing. Puffs of air came out in slow, shallow exhales, as Izuku attempted to tune his ears into his environment.
The rapid clicks reached his ears, first quietly and from a distance, then loudly and from the room he was hiding in. The clicker creaked around the counter, the horrid mutilated face coming so close to his. Quickly sucking in a panicked breath, Izuku held impossibly still, praying his loud, muddled thoughts couldn’t be heard by the creature.
It continues to stand there, its back crouched forward, head tilting this way and that, as if it had eyes that were searching. Izuku’s heart thumped heavily in his chest as he watched, trying to will it away. His nose flared in pain from the foul, rotten stench. He was defenceless, his backpack abandoned, a better option then trying to fight the horde of runners that had it surrounded.
Izuku gets desperate as his lungs begin to ache and burn, as quietly and carefully as he can, he turns his head to look around, trying to find something to use as a distraction or a weapon. His eyes focus onto a ceramic plate on the floor, its intricate sage green swirling pattern catching his eye.
It’s dirty and already chipped but it may just save his life. He stretches his arm out to the side, straining as he tries to silently grab at it. What was possibly seconds felt like centuries before he finally managed to grab at it.
With one quick swing, he threw it backwards over his head and the counter. The plate collided with a wall, shattering into tiny pieces. The noise successfully attracts the clicker away from Izuku and towards the wall, emitting a deafening, blood-curdling shriek as it turns away.
With it finally out of his face, Izuku releases a quiet breath, the hairs on his arm still stand on their ends reminding him that he’s not out of the woods yet. Crouched down, he tries to shuffle along the floor as soundlessly as possible.
He spots a hole in the ceiling just above a chair and table, leading to another floor. Hope blooms in his mind as he moves towards it and climbs on top. His stomach and arms tightened as he hoisted himself up and over rolling onto the next floor.
Izuku releases a startled laugh, exhaling slowly before standing up. He exits the building through the fire escape, turning back to the street and walking down it.
A decrepit smile takes place on his face as he realises that his journey has left him without his backpack. An important backpack which carried his map, his weapons and most importantly, his food and water.
His mind twists and turns as it reflects on his choices throughout his life. He has survived the apocalypse by himself, alone, for one and a half years, and he’s going to die, not by a human turned zombie, but by starvation and dehydration. A huff of amusement leaves him as he registers the stupidity and irony of it.
Izuku shakes his head, trying to snap out of it.
“It’s okay…this isn’t the first time I’ve had to start fresh” He mutters to himself as he beings to search the ground and shops surrounding him.
---
Following the wide long road, Izuku walks through the once bustling city, now covered in vines and moss. He watches as birds fly overhead, he examines the chasms in the concrete road and he listens to the rustling of bushes and bins, alert and aware.
Once he’s far enough away from the building, Izuku starts to scavenge the local shops. However, he turns up mostly empty handed. The area having clearly been raided already.
Izuku huffs and rolls his eyes as he tosses an empty can of food over his shoulder. As he’s exiting the shop and preparing to move onto the next, a run-down record shop, he hears the sound of an engine rolling around the corner.
The vehicle, old and rusty and covered in spikes, turns towards Izuku’s direction. Its engine revs, the one working light beaming brightly. In a panicked rush, Izuku dashes into the record shop, he hears the sound of car doors swinging shut, of bats hitting the ground, of guns clocking as the bullets are loaded in.
He jumps over the front desk, swinging open the staff only room and closing it behind him with a lock. Laughter and cruel chatter reach his ears as he desperately searches for another exit, or at the very least, some kind of weapon.
Tears cloud his vision as his thoughts drift to worst outcomes. His breathing becomes labored and rough as his eyes settle on a small plank of wood, the best he has. With no other exit, Izuku settles behind the door waiting for it to inevitably open.
He’s going to die here, not to starvation like he thought, but by the hands of his own kind, who selfishly take advantage of the situation the world is in, who lie and hurt. People who will use you then throw you away, they’ll lock you in a room with a turned and watch in amusement as you try to defend yourself, they’ll watch showing no empathy as your cries fall on deaf ears.
Izuku may die here, but he’ll be damned if he dies without a fight. There’s a light knock on the door, polite yet mocking. Sneering laughter before hushed voices, a deep, gruff one rumbled, drowning out the others, it’s commanding presence asserting dominance.
“We know you’re in there” The voice taunted, “why don’t you make this easier for everyone and just come on out yeah?”
Izuku kept his mouth closed, not daring to make a retort. Awkward shuffling could be heard before four more loud bangs rattled the door.
“Don’t make me knock this door down!” The voice boomed, “You’re testing my patience.”
With no other option, Izuku stepped back and slowly opened the door.
“I haven’t got anything, so just be on your way…” Izuku spoke quietly, the stick of wood hiding behind his back.
A large rough hand, caked in dirt and grime, clutched at the door and swung it open wider. Izuku came face to face with a scarred face, with big cross eyebrows and a demonic smile on the mouth.
“Haven’t got anything?” He laughed, “Well now, that simply wont do. You must have something.” He turned to his group and laughed before turning back to Izuku. “Go on, hand it over.” He laid his hand out flat.
With nothing to hand over, all Izuku could do was stand there and watch them cautiously. He stares up at the brute, his eyes and mouth set in an unamused state.
“I don’t have anything.” He repeats.
The next few seconds pass far too quickly. Izuku’s eyes lock onto the hand in front of him that’s pulling backwards, he reaches behind his back grabbing the wooden plank. Latching onto it, he ducks under the first punch, rolling to the side then jumping up and using his momentum to bring the plank down on top of the supposed leader’s head.
He should’ve known that in this rotting, wet environment, a wooden plank wouldn’t hold up.
The board snaps in two over the leader’s head and scatters onto the floor. The thug bellows in fury, his left fist colliding with Izuku’s face, propelling him to the floor. Two other thugs come over and hold Izuku against a wall.
The leader’s knuckles crack as he flexes them, his hands tightening into fists yet again. His eyes promise hell for Izuku. Izuku writhes and tries to pull himself free but to no avail. He squeezes his eyes shut in pain and hopes that they don’t kill him.
---
They should have just killed him. They basically did. His body and face are swollen and bruised. He had passed out half way through the beating and woken up in the same spot, on the cold, molding floor. It’s dark now, his blurred vision adding an extra layer of darkness and he’s tired, so tired.
He can’t keep going. He has nothing left and without food and water, there’s no way he can recover from this. He may as well just give up now. His head thumps back onto the floor, and darkness welcomes him.
---
A rough but careful hand wakes Izuku up, mercilessly bringing him back to his cruel world. With the little strength he has, Izuku manages to slap the hand away and kick out at the stranger while desperate cries leave his lips.
He thinks he hears a voice, a rough but gentle voice, trying to calm him, soothe him. Izuku tries to peel his eyes open, tries to see who it is that’s trying to kill him.
He sees a ragged man, who looks as tired as Izuku feels, with long, choppy, black hair and stubble surrounding his jaw. But there’s also this foreign, strange thing on his face, something Izuku hasn’t seen in years… an honest, sympathetic look that radiates from his eyes.