He dreamed of joining the world of heroes. Such awe-inspiring men and women that swooped in to save you in your time of need. However, as the droning hum of the whirring fans of the office computer reminded him, not even entering the most prestigious school in all of Japan could help him be the hero that he desperately wanted to become. All Might was right. He had no chance of becoming one.

"Hey, Midoriya!" a co-worker called out. "You're working overtime again?"

"Yeah," he answered without turning from his computer. "Just need to finish up this Quirk analysis dataset."

"Seriously? Another dataset?" the co-worker asked. "I get that you graduated top of your class for Gen. Ed. in U.A but how in the heck do you even find that much fresh Quirk data?!"

The computer fans droned for a while. "Observations, I guess. You know, watching the news, reading up on new Hero stats and what not."

"…and you're expecting me to believe that you've been gathering all of that from just that? Come on, there must be something else you're doing to get 'Employee of the Year' three times in a row and you've only been here for that long!"

"…yes."

With a quick "OK", his co-worker left, leaving him the only soul in the office building. He never minded the solitude as it gave him the peaceful environment he liked. Not that he hated his co-workers or anything because they were all good drinking friends, but they reminded him too much of the reality of the world that he lived in. Society favoured the ones born fortunate and it did not matter whether you had a Quirk.

Everyone in the office building was either Quirkless like himself or unlucky enough to have a Quirk that was deemed useless like glowing in the dark once every two Tuesdays. On the other hand, since the passing of his idol, it seemed that only your Quirk mattered in the eyes of the people as the current No.1 hero across Japan was none other than his childhood tormentor, Katsuki Bakugou. It ached his heart every time he checked his spam folder only to find some article from some tabloid paper about the controversies and scandals the man he once called Kacchan was rolled up in. Once upon a time, he would be happy for him. He would look on in silence as his friend streaked flames across the sky to rescue a poor soul.

Not anymore. Murderers did not deserve that respect. The families destroyed that day under the audacious claim of 'collateral damage' had every right to protest this tyranny. The media may try to convince the public that a gas explosion was responsible, but they knew his temper, especially Midoriya.

A light ping shaking him out of his thoughts, he checked the new email that popped into his inbox. He checked the time and decided against reading it to finish up the dataset.

xxx

"We want change! Reform the system now! We want change! Reform the system now!"

An ocean of people swarmed the mayor's office holding placards demanding the reformation of the hero system. It was not too far from the building where he worked so their chants could be heard loud and clear.

Walking past them, he stopped by a convenience store to pick up a newspaper and a microwaveable lunch set for tomorrow.

"Again with the instant lunch set?" the middle-aged cashier grumbled. "You should eat healthier, son. One of these days, your veins are going to clog up and you'll die when you're 30."

Midoriya gave a weak smile. "Eh, if an easy lunch is going to kill me, I wouldn't mind. Better to die on a full stomach than an empty one," he replied, dropping off the appropriate change on the counter.

The cashier looked none too pleased and took out a bag of fresh vegetables from beneath the counter. "Here, take'em," he said while shoving the bag towards him. "A friend of mine had grown a lot of them veggies in preparation for some sort of disaster." He made a swirling motion by his head to emphasise the kind of person his friend was.

"Oh, come on, old timer, I can't keep receiving free stuff from you!", Midoriya laughed as he tried—and failed—to push the bag back. "You've got to make a living somehow, right? Let me buy them off you instead."

"I insist."

Without another word, Midoriya sighed and clutched the bag into his arms. There was just no way to refuse the kind old man. He then turned around, waved goodbye and left for home.

The walk to his apartment suffered no bumps. Aside from the occasional harassment from the hoodlums in the alleyways, he made it to his humble abode unharmed. The hoodlums, teens with Quirks with nothing better to do, never failed at reminding him how much of a useless human being he was for lacking a Quirk. Sometimes it was a splash of water to the face, sometimes a slight burst of flames to make him jump out of the way into a puddle. Either way, they would never resort to physically harming him. They could have easily beaten him to a pulp and they knew it. The only reason they did not do it, he speculated, was because they wanted to get a rise out of him. Get him to make the first move and then they would have a reason to bring the whole gang to pummel him.

How dare the Quirkless filth strike them, right? Untying his necktie, he plopped the bag of vegetables onto his kitchen table and turned on the TV. According to the news, apparently the number of hate crimes against non-heroics Quirk users have steadily increased over the past few years. Made a lot of sense. The No.1 hero lived and breathed discrimination against those beneath him, so this trend was simply nature taking its course. Firms like the one he worked in thrived in this environment as it provided a lot of data for them to process and analyse before selling that information to major security departments and private schools.

Almost as a side note, the news broadcast ended with a brief mention of a new string of murders all over town, involving the gruesome deaths of nameless thugs of the underground.

Tending to the vegetables on the table, he brought the whole bag to the refrigerator and carefully rolled out its contents into the vegetable compartment. As the final tomato plopped into place however, a shrill ring blared from his living room.

It was his home phone.

The clock struck 9pm on the 23rd of March when he picked it up.

'Hey, it's Shinichi from Pyonta Trash Disposal!' said the caller with a cheer. 'We'd like to apologise for leaving a mess near your home. So, would you mind stopping by our office on the 2nd floor of Holden Apartments? C Block, room 302. You will be compensated as our way of apology.'

With a mechanical click, he set the phone down. He reached for his necktie on the kitchen table and tied it into a crisp Windsor knot before straightening out his beige shirt and black loafers. He then marched out of his apartment and made a beeline for the nearest underground rail station. He would pick up the rest of his things from one of the storage lockers there.

Time to collect some data.

A/N: Hey, KobeNiku here! This concept has been on my mind now for quite a while ever since I've delved deeper into the lore and the world of Hotline Miami. I don't have any further plans of continuing this because it's more like a one-shot idea showcase if anything. Nonetheless, feedback is appreciated!