Chapter 18: The Hollow

Chapter 8: Fractured Foundations

The Hollow stretched deeper than Kirishima had expected. What he had seen so far was just the front—an entrance, a meeting place, the part they were willing to show outsiders. But as Stray led him further in, weaving past rusted scaffolding and makeshift barricades, Kirishima realized just how vast this place was.

The deeper sections weren't just storage rooms or briefing areas. There were training spaces—repurposed subway tunnels where the air carried the scent of sweat and gunpowder. Targets were set up against the concrete walls, riddled with the scars of knives, bullets, and quirks that had left their mark.

The people here weren't just fighting for survival.

They were preparing for war.

Kirishima's stomach twisted as he passed a group running drills. A woman with a reinforced gauntlet shattered a stack of cinder blocks with one punch. A man moved through a series of evasive maneuvers as projectiles fired toward him, his reflexes honed to precision. Others sparred, their movements raw and brutal, lacking the polish of hero training but making up for it with sheer efficiency.

This wasn't a hero agency.

This was a battlefield waiting to happen.

Stray noticed his silence. "Not what you expected?"

Kirishima exhaled sharply. "It's more than I expected."

Stray smirked. "Good. You'll fit in faster that way."

Kirishima shook his head. "I haven't said I'm staying."

Stray's eyes glinted. "But you haven't left, either."

That was the problem, wasn't it?

Stray led him into a larger space near the heart of The Hollow. A long table dominated the room, surrounded by chairs—some occupied, some not. The air was thick with tension, the kind that clung to people who had seen too much. Maps and blueprints covered the walls, pinned between photographs, notes, and surveillance images that made Kirishima's chest tighten.

Crime scenes. Evidence. Names of people who had slipped through the cracks of the system.

And not just villains.

Heroes were listed, too.

He stared at the names, his throat dry. Some he recognized—Pro Heroes, sidekicks, even a few government officials. Some had been exposed in scandals, but others… others had spotless records.

He clenched his fists. "What is this?"

A voice from behind him answered. "The truth."

Kirishima turned. The girl from earlier—Kase, he had learned—leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Her sharp gaze flickered between him and the names on the board. "You think the hero system's clean? That it's always been about justice?"

Kirishima grit his teeth. "I know it's not perfect, but—"

"It's broken." She pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "People like us? We don't get justice from the system. We get ignored. Left behind. And if we fight back? We're criminals."

Kirishima's chest tightened. The words hit too close. They sounded too much like the thoughts he had buried, the doubts that had clawed at him since Iida hit the ground.

Stray leaned against the table, arms folded. "That's why we exist. To handle the cases heroes can't—or won't."

Kirishima exhaled slowly. His mind warred with itself.

He had always wanted to be a hero.

But what if heroism wasn't enough?

Stray studied him. "You don't have to believe in us yet. But you do have to ask yourself—who do you trust more? The system that let Stain walk away unpunished?"

Kirishima flinched.

Stray's voice lowered. "Or the people who actually get things done?"

Silence stretched between them. Kirishima's heart pounded. He looked around the room, at the people who weren't waiting for permission to fight for what they believed in.

Maybe he didn't belong here.

But maybe he didn't belong anywhere else, either.

And that scared him more than anything.

"…What do you want me to do?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Stray grinned, stepping back. "For now? Watch. Learn. And when the time comes—choose."

Kirishima swallowed hard. He didn't know what his choice would be.

Kirishima stood near the edge of the main hall, watching as vigilantes moved in and out, their paths weaving like threads in a tapestry of defiance. Some carried supplies—bandages, stolen hero-tech, crates of gear marked with hero agency logos that shouldn't have been outside government hands. Others sharpened weapons, tested gear, or murmured over maps sprawled across metal tables.

This wasn't chaos. It was preparation. Purpose.

And he was still standing on the threshold, wondering if he had the right to step inside.

"You look like you got something heavy on your shoulders."

The voice came from behind him. Kirishima turned to see the girl from earlier—leaning against a rusted metal column, arms crossed, a hint of amusement in her sharp gaze.

"You got a name, or you just gonna keep standing there like a lost puppy?"

"…Kirishima."

She smirked. "Yeah, I remember. You're the one who doesn't know what he is anymore."

Kirishima tensed. "I didn't say that."

"Didn't have to."

She pushed off the column, stepping closer. In the dim light of the underground hideout, the scars on her arms stood out against her skin—marks that told a story without words.

"Name's Kase."

Kirishima hesitated before nodding. "How long have you been here?"

Kase scoffed. "Long enough to know how this works. Long enough to know what heroes won't do."

He swallowed. "And what's that?"

She looked at him, something unreadable in her expression. "Win."

Before he could respond, movement from the other side of the Hollow caught his attention. Stray had entered the room, a grin pulling at his lips as he tossed something onto one of the tables with a loud thud.

"Alright, people! We got work to do."

Vigilantes gathered around, Kirishima included, drawn forward by the weight of the moment. On the table, a small device flickered—a hologram of a warehouse blinking into view. Red marks surrounded it, indicating patrol routes, security measures, weak points.

Stray tapped the image. "This is our target."

Kirishima frowned. "What is it?"

"A black site." Stray's smirk didn't fade. "Illegal detainment facility, off the books. Supposedly used for villain interrogations, but—" he gestured to the image, "—we got intel that says heroes are dumping people there too."

Kirishima's stomach twisted. "Heroes?"

Kase scoffed. "Yeah. The ones who don't play by their own rules. People like us go missing all the time, and no one asks questions."

Stray leaned in slightly, watching Kirishima closely. "You wanna know what separates heroes from the rest of us? They only fight for justice when it's convenient."

Kirishima clenched his fists. "And what do you fight for?"

Stray's grin sharpened. "The people no one else will."

Silence stretched between them. The Hollow's air felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. Kirishima wasn't sure if it was doubt, or if it was the slow realization that maybe—just maybe—they weren't entirely wrong.

"…What's the plan?"

Stray's grin widened. "Now we're talkin'."

The next few hours blurred into motion—planning, routes, escape points, assignments. Kase and a few others would handle the outside perimeter. Stray, Kirishima, and another fighter—Gale—would breach the main facility.

"No killing," Stray reminded them. "We ain't villains."

Kirishima exhaled, his grip tightening on the stolen earpiece in his hand. This was happening. He was really doing this.

"Hey," Kase murmured as she adjusted her gear beside him. "You ready for this?"

Kirishima wasn't sure how to answer.

Because deep down, a part of him was afraid of the truth.

That he might not hesitate this time.

That he might not want to.