This story was inspired by Soulofnone911. I'm not sure how much I like it so far.

All Midoriya could really focus on at that moment was the immense headache. A brown, disgusting ceiling stared back at him. A foul stench entered his nose as he tried to recollect where he was, but nothing was particularly clear to him.

"Ah, you're finally awake. How are you feeling?" a voice to Midoriya's left spoke. His eyes focused on the figure of an older man. He seemed genuinely concerned about him, which for some reason, felt wrong.

"No, honestly. I feel like shit," he answered honestly. His voice felt hoarse.

"Yeah, I can imagine. It's not easy to recover from a bullet to the head."

That would explain the splitting headache that he was currently enduring. "You got any idea how that happened?"

"I'm 'fraid not. Victor's the one that brought you in to town. Said he found you out in the graveyard. You must have had some kind of vendetta against you."

Faint memories drifted in and out of Midoriya's head. Some recent, some of a distant past. How long had he even been in the Mojave? He didn't know. A year or two?

"I did the best I could to reconstruct your face, but you be the judge," the man said after holding up a mirror to Izuku's face. Disheveled green hair and matching eyes stared back at him through the broken, dirtied mirror. The eyes he wore were droopy compared to the wide ones he used to have, but that wasn't the doctor's fault. After being transported from Japan to the Mojave after some freak Quirk accident, his prospects of a return trip seemed to get slimmer and slimmer. Eventually, all hope dissipated.

What was a Quirk again? His mind registered the word, and something about it felt familiar, but he couldn't quite think of a definition.

No, he knew what that was. He had one, he was sure. Although it seemed quite hazy as to what it was, he didn't have any intentions of using it. From what he remembered, it didn't fare well on his body. Naturally, he was more adept at using a gun nowadays.

He tried to purge the thought from his mind. The more he tried to remember, the worse his headache grew. It he could just focus on what was in front of him, then that would fare better for him. "Everything seems fine. Thank you, you did a good job."

"Let me help you get on your way," the doctor offered. Izuku Midoriya accepted the help, at the very least to get back on his feet and continue his journey.

It wasn't like he meant to use his nameless Quirk. Izuku's ranger armor was buckling fast under fire from the super mutants. His hand fumbled with the stimpak, nearly missing its mark in his arm. The moment the drug-like substance hit his system, a power within his bones activated against his will. Insurmountable power willed its way into his arms, and without even thinking, he used it to his advantage. The power fist he had strapped to his arm soared forward into the stomach of an approaching super mutant. As the fist connected with the ugly, mutated skin of the monster, its muscles and flesh blew apart. Blood splattered across Midoriya's face and armor. The sudden death of the mutant caused the other two super mutants to immediately retreat, but Izuku was just as surprised as they were.

He stared at his bloody fist beneath the gear. He tried not to focus on his past, instead choosing to narrow his goals upon the Mojave. Finding the platinum chip was one goal, getting back to Japan was another. Now, however, he was forcibly reminded that he was different from everyone else. Sure, he knew he wasn't from the Mojave, but something about that world was too different. As Izuku stared at his fist, the Quirk that his idol, All Might, gave him reared itself once again. Maybe it was because it was desperate to be used, maybe it was Midoriya who accidentally activated it. Either way, he couldn't help but remember the circumstances leading to him acquiring that power. Everything else around it was still unclear, but One for All, at the least, came springing back into his memory.

If anything, it would be useful in battle. Midoriya brushed his gear off as best as he could before switching weapons. The plasma rifle he managed to loot fit perfectly in his hands, a small comfort he had in the bleak Mojave wasteland.

And so Midoriya had the platinum chip. But what was the cost of such a deed? Back home, in Japan, he would never even fathom killing another human being. Now, the corpse of Benny laid on the floor next to him. And nobody would care. It was by his hands that a human had died, and nobody would care who did it. It would just be a normal day.

He gripped the chip in his palm, spinning it fiercely between his fingers but never letting go. The other hand held the pistol that ended the life of a man. Why did he need that chip in the first place, though?

Because some wackjob entrusted him in the first place to deliver it to someone, that's why. How did his life end up like this? In the back of his mind, he knew he should have been looking for a way to get back to Japan. Instead, here he was, killing people in order to get some stupid casino chip back.

No matter how much gear and experience, or how many scars, he'd acquired, none of it was going to help him get back to Japan.

But then again, what exactly could he do?

He tightened his grip on the pistol. It was a standard 10mm, but now it was a murder weapon. That gun had its barrel pointed at another person as its trigger was pulled, and the bullet it once housed caused the death of a man.

And Midoriya was the one to pull the trigger.

A bullet landed itself in Midoriya's shoulder. The legionnaire who fired it soon met his end at the hand of an NCR soldier.

He gritted his teeth as he tried to reload his plasma rifle. The idea of facing off against people made him uneasy, but if it were for the right cause, then he would do it. After all, it was for the best. There weren't enough resources in the wasteland to provide for that many people, anyway. Already, especially in Freeside, people were starving. If Midoriya could help any one of them, then it was worth it.

That's what he convinced himself of, anyway. The "death is the only solution" motto of the wasteland was starting to ingrain itself inside his mind.

So each shot fired from his rifle faithfully hit it's target. Rarely any of his targets were survivors. Green, glowing globs splattered the Hoover Dam.

It wasn't that he didn't share his fair share of damage, however. Multiple stimpaks were used just to make Izuku move. Blood, both his and others, was splattered across his duster. It became too ravaged for him to tote around, so he shrugged it off his shoulders. The same went for his helmet, which he could barely breath in anymore. His unruly hair stuck out every which way. Granted, he had cut it a bit to get out of his way. Nonetheless, it was not something that he could just tame.

Midoriya jammed another stimpak between the plates of armor on his arm. The metal breastplate that he wore seemed to be doing its job perfectly well against the hoard of Legion soldiers. Still, blood still leaked out of some of the bullet holes that decorated his skin Lucky for him, stimpaks acted like an anesthetic of sorts. After using a good many in the battle, he could barely feel anything in his body anymore.

Then, after what felt like hours of fighting, it was finally over. Izuku looked at the littering of dead bodies around him. It should have been a horrifying sight to him, but somehow it just felt normal. After facing ghouls, deathclaws, and everything in between, nothing about the Mojave seemed to surprise Midoriya anymore.

And soon after that, everything went blank.

He was falling, that was for sure. It was a familiar sensation. He'd gone through it once before, right after falling into that portal from that villain. Soon after, he found himself in the middle of a desert. With barely any kind of protection, it was a miracle that he survived. If not for the Mojave express taking him in, he would have died within the first 24 hours of his arrival in the post apocalypse.

And this time, it was as if he were going back in time. In fact, he was sure of it. The blackness that enveloped him threw him onto the ground in a very familiar building. Sunlight poured in through the glass ceiling above. It was pristine, save for a few panes. It looked as though something large passed through.

Slowly, he forced his body upward. The anesthetic from the stimpaks was starting to fade, and each bullet wound was shooting him pain signals. He could use another stimpak, but that would only be prolonging the issue. He would need to remove the bullets in his body before he could fully heal. Besides, stimpaks had a tenacity to work too well, and he didn't want the bullets to be buried in his skin and muscle.

"Hey, are you okay?" someone shouted at him. It was a red haired boy, somewhat familiar to him. He couldn't quite place a name.

Izuku sneered. Of course he wasn't okay, couldn't he see the sorry state of his body?

Despite the pain coursing through his body, he forced himself to his feet. This place, wherever he was, was too familiar. And the people occupying it, even if they hadn't noticed him quite yet, all seemed to ring some kind of bell within him. He just didn't know what it was.

"Wait, Midoriya?" the kid shouted at him again. Maybe he shouldn't have called him kid, they were probably about the same age. Still, it didn't surprise him too much that he knew his name.

But he wasn't the only one that knew that name. Everyone in the vicinity turned their heads, only to swarm him. They looked him up and down, telling him that he was seriously injured and should sit down. They told him that they didn't know where he went, but they were glad that he was back. But hey, what was he wearing? His hair was different, they kept saying. And he wasn't wearing armor before, was he? And what was that green thing strapped to his back?

He couldn't name a single person that tried speaking to him.

"I'm fine," he insisted, pushing them away from him. He could barely breath around them. "And who are you people, anyway?"

Silence overcame the crowd. They were his age, he could tell that much at least. And they all wore the same outfit, one that he remembered himself wearing at one point or another.

"How could you forget us, dude?" the red haired one asked.

"I mean…you seem familiar. Everything is still pretty hazy. What's your name?"

"Kirishima," the boy answered. His eyes had some sort of sadness in them, but he didn't know what that meant.

"Kirishima…" he rolled the name around in his mouth. "You're…you have a Quirk….that makes your skin hard? Right?"

He nodded fervently. "That's right."

"Deku…do you really not remember us?" a girl asked him. Now, that was an interesting name. The girl had short brown hair and bright pink cheeks.

She seemed very familiar. Short memories of her floated through his head, but it was too fast for him to process. "I need to sit down," he said as he turned away from everyone, blatantly ignoring her question. There wasn't a clear answer that he could give. Obviously, he knew them at one point. But after having such a traumatic injury to the brain like he had, it was hard for him to recall certain things. The path he walked in the Divide certainly proved that much.

He knew he was in Japan, that much was clear. This was his home, the one that he was torn away from over a year ago. In this world, superheroes existed. They had Quirks, and that was like a person's super power. His Quirk was One for All. It was given to him by All Might. Speaking of, some of the other people in the room were other heroes. He used to look up to them at one point. And he wanted to be one of them, so he went to a school to become one. So those young people…they must have been his classmates.

It was only about two years ago. Only two years, and yet it felt like fifty. Even if he didn't remember everything, he suddenly felt a sense of home. Of self.

"Midoriya-" someone spoke to him. He should have expected it, but since he was so deep in thought, it spooked him. Having been living in the Mojave for so long, his brain trained itself to always assume something like that was an enemy. He snatched his 10mm off of his hip and aimed it at the person who spoke.

Quickly, he realized that that wasn't necessary. A man with long blond hair had his hands up. What looked like a small speaker system was wrapped around his neck. This used to be one of his teachers, right?

He holstered the gun. "Sorry," he apologized. "Sit down if you want."

The man gulped. "Sure."

"You were one of my teachers, right? Present Mic."

The man nodded. "I am one of your teachers, more accurately. Midoriya, what happened to you after you were teleported away?"

"I was taken to the Mojave. I'm surprised that you still remember that, because I barely do," he answered to the best of his ability. He didn't remember too much about that day, either. Just that when he came to in the Mojave, his arm was injured enough for the Primm Mojave Outpost owner to take pity upon him.

"What do you mean by remember?"

That seemed like a stupid question. "That was nearly two years ago."

The man shook his head. "That can't be right."

Izuku scowled. He was already confused enough as it was. "What?"

"Midoriya, you've only been missing for half an hour."