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Aizawa Shouta arrives at the crime scene and the first sees is Officer Tamakawa Sansa puking up his guts on the other side of his squad car. That’s attractive.

He turns away and searches the crowd of law-enforcement personnel for Detective Tsukauchi, the one who called him here.

It’s not incredibly difficult to spot the trench coat and fedora, so he slips past officers and taps the man on the shoulder. Tsukauchi turns around and sighs in what seems to be relief.

“Eraserhead.”

“Detective.” He pauses. “Why am I here?”

The detective sighs again, noticeably heavier this time. Well fuck, this is going to be a fun playdate, isn’t it?

“I’m not going to lie.” Good. “It’s a bloodbath in there,” continues the detective, gesturing to the minka. Oops, not good then. “We have next to no clue what happened, other than that everyone who lived here is dead and someone ransacked the main lab.” Huh. “We need your expertise. You know the underground, you might be able to help us with this.”

Aizawa doesn’t hesitate much. In his field, a second is equal to a life, which means that hesitance kills.

He doesn’t hesitate now.

“Absolutely. Give me a second here to text my agency, and then I’m on the case.” He doesn’t wait for Tsukauchi to respond as he pulls out his phone, shooting off a text to his patrol coordinator. She’ll make sure his routes are covered and his schedule is cleared. He shoves his phone back in his pocket.

Aizawa Shouta looks back up at Detective Tsukauchi through his goggles and nods.

“Show me what we’ve got.”

-

Tsukauchi wasn’t fucking around when he said that it was a bloodbath. Shit, Sansa wasn’t even overreacting when he heaved up his last meal next to the squad car. But what really hits Aizawa, what really unnerves him, isn’t the blood. It’s the fatal blows.

One bullet per person, all kill shots. Guns are illegal in Japan, so they had connections to the underground. He told Tsukauchi as much.

One bullet per person, but two noticeable exceptions - Chisaki Kai and Kurono Hari, who both have puncture wounds through their right eyes that hit their brains.

Whoever did this had a serious fucking issues with these men, and they weren’t afraid to show it, up close and personal. What a fucking mess.

“Detective,” he calls. Tsukauchi looks over at him with curious eyes. “These are those Shie Hassaikai guys you were investigating, right?”

Tsukauchi purses his lips and turns away from him again.

“Yes,” he answers tersely. “That’s what they called themselves. The only reason we didn’t get them ourselves was because we couldn’t find a paper trail. Nothing on the books we could catch them with, and we can’t file for search warrants without proof.”

Aizawa scoffs. “I don’t think whoever did this was concerned with things like paper trails and proof.”

Tsukauchi hums his agreement. “I think that too.”

Aizawa looks over the room of Chisaki Kai with disdain. It’s near clinically sterile, with no pictures or personal affects in sight. It screams paranoia and that one personality disorder he can never remember the name of.

And then there’s the fact that there’s almost no sign of anyone but them entering the room, save for the smudge of blood on Chisaki’s cheek. Unfortunately for them, the perp has been wearing gloves (this news had been given to them by an officer with a minor cataloguing quirk, who had come up from the lab), so no fingerprints.

In fact, there’s almost no sign of anyone breaking and entering the minka, which was unusual. In cases like this, there’s almost always some sort of damage to the property, but there isn't so much as a broken lock or a window pane out of place.

Shit, there isn’t even any CCTV, because everything around the compound is low-security residential.

Well. Was low-security residential; any sane person is either gonna go doomsday or pack up their shit and scram. He knows Hizashi would be boxing up the apartment in a second if something like this happened near their apartment.

“Detective!”

The familiar voice from the hall startles them both.

“Sansa,” Tsukauchi calls, “what is it?”

Officer Tamakawa’s head pokes in, his ears up and his fur puffed in what’s probably irritation, if what Aizawa knows from his own cats holds true.

“The guy who called us called the vultures too, and they’re outside the line.” Tamakawa’s face twists up in displeasure. “They’re asking for a statement.” He looks over at him and visibly brightens. “Hey, Eraserhead! Didn’t know you were here! Glad to see you’re working with us!” His head disappears back through the door.

Aizawa looks over to Tsukauchi, who’s got his face in his hands. He hears a soft, “Fuck,” and snorts.

“Well, it seems the ‘vultures’ have arrived. You wanna hear what I’ve got before you go make a statement?”

Tsukauchi nods, not lifting his face from his hands.

Aizawa clears his throat.

“Alright. Well, I don't think they’ve got a transformation quirk, or a mutation. I think it’s most likely emitter. Based on the lack of residue, it might be a mental or physical quirk, but I’d say there’s a good chance of it being physical. Maybe a minor enhancer, solely on how many people were killed in our 45 minute window.

“There’s clearly some emotional connection, seeing as Chisaki and Kurono were paid special attention. A grudge, perhaps, or revenge for something. But this wasn’t blind anger. It wasn’t a rampage.” Aizawa pauses, trying to figure out a tactful way to say ‘yeah, this guy planned and executed the murder of upwards of 150 people; people who were criminals, sure, but were still people, and I’ve got no fucking clue why’.

“This was premeditated mass murder without an immediately visible motive. I can only confidently say that this person got exactly what they wanted, and that they covered their tracks incredibly well.”

Tsukauchi hisses through his teeth as he looks up at the ceiling.

“Dammit,” he whispers, loud enough for Aizawa to hear.

“Yeah,” Aizawa responds. “Dammit is right. I’ll start looking around tomorrow with the info brokers to see if they know anything. There’s a new guy in the area. I’ll call you if I find anything.”

Tsukauchi doesn’t look at him as he leaves the room, ready to head home for the night. Fuck.

He just hopes he can find something before this guy hits again.

-

Aizawa watches from his couch as Tsukauchi gives the statement to the media. Twisting his words about the perp’s quirk is a good idea, he notes. Make the killer feel confident that they won’t guess their quirk, make them slip up, leave behind some evidence, etc.

He looks over at Hizashi and sighs. His husband is sleeping on the cushion next to him, one leg in his lap and the other over the back of the couch. His arms are askew and his hair is down, half of it lying over his face and half of it spread behind his head.

He sighs and switches off the TV, standing up and stretching. His back pops and he huffs - he’s going to have to drag his dumbass husband all the way to their room, hope the cat hasn’t eaten his pillowcase again, and find some way to fall asleep.

He slides his arms under Hizashi and gently lifts him princess style, trying not to wake him up. He grunts over the not insignificant weight of his husband as he makes his way to their room - though he’s lanky, Hizashi is mostly muscle and muscle is heavy.

He nudges the door open with his foot and god fucking dammit, Yutanpo’s shredded his pillowcase again.

“Fucking asshole cat,” he grumbles, laying Hizashi down on the sheets. He’s already in his pyjamas - has been since around noon - so Aizawa doesn’t have to worry about changing him, and just throws the duvet over him.

Aizawa himself is still in his work clothes, so he strips - shirt, socks, pants, etc. - and heads into the master bathroom to shower. He needs to get a handle on how he’s going to approach this. A mass murder withh only one clue - whatever was taken from the compound.

If they can find what’s missing, they’ll have their killer behind bars.

If they can’t find what’s missing, they’ll have their killer out on the streets.

Aizawa stands under the hot water of the shower, still as it beats down on him.

Fuck. What a mess.