Before the gala formally began, I made to check my phone for any interesting news.

I'd taken to doing that lately and hadn't seen reason to curb the growing habit.

I opened the news app and tapped the first article on display which began its broadcast. It was live so It took a while, but finally it started with an already ongoing report.

"… happened five minutes ago at approximately Fourteen-hundred-hours-three-eight, Greenwich Mean Time, Tokyo. City Hall has just suffered assault from unknown terrorist sources and exploded in a blaze. Casualties remain unknown at the moment, but Police are preparing for the worst. We should be getting correspondence within the next few…"

A commotion arose in the background of the video, followed by the sound of scuffling feet, the crinkling of paper and shouted whispers filtering through the live broadcast from the background as the anchors worked in a rush, while the teleprompters furiously and audibly typed away news as it happened.

The senseless violence being discussed made me a little uneasy, so I immediately dismissed the video and was promptly redirected to another.

"… LeMillion debuts in San Francisco…"

A new debut. I thought I recognized the name, but… I got nothing.

I drew a blank. His face was just unremarkable – the epitome of average, with an impressive but rather common physique, one shared by almost every power-type hero. It was nothing of interest anyway, just the usual hostage situation/bank robbery most debutees fight, so I dismissed the video and clicked next.

"… World Number 12, Endeavor rises to number one in Japan…"

Another Billboard Chart report.

Not even global too.

Next.

"… fourth attempt at Tartarus since the Death of All Might has been foiled by the wardens, with the villains responsible fleeing in defeat. Assailants remain as yet unknown and unnamed, but security footage show a young man leading the assault covered in what appear to be human hands…"

Another break in attempt.

Those usually happened at least once every six months. Almost always after months of meticulous planning from the villains, executed with a level of effort that you could see… not this, whoever it is, storming the place.

It looked to be simple anarchy.

Aimless and purposeless.

There was something different about this attempt, I thought.

Most attempts never made national news. Too low profile to waste a five-minute slot. I only know what I do because of Professor David who is sometimes commissioned to design some of the restraints.

Next.

"…Nomu sighted at Tokyo City Hall. Suspected to be the cause of collapse. Hawks goes on the defensive…"

I could almost see the peace of old slowly unravelling, making way for chaos and unrest. Each news report I read, was another corner of the world burning as villains ran rampant without restraint… mostly Japan and America.

Next.

"… The mantle of Champion has once again changed hands. Spectacle at the Hero Billboard Chart Global yesterday when Challenger inherited the Champion Regalia…"

The next article was very much of interest – it was as it always was when the mantle changed hands, history in the making and a source of drama for the media to milk for months to follow.

Before All Might, there was Champion the first and his suit of armor.

Champion was a hero from the second generation of quirked humanity, who possessed the peculiar ability to imbue objects with power to various anomalous effects. He could, given enough time to imbue enough power turn plastic swords into true blades sharp enough to cleave buildings in half, turn a dollar store costume into a suit of armor strong enough to block tank shots and survive planetary re-entry, as well as turn bargain bin sneakers into speed boosting shoes and so on and so forth.

It made him particularly formidable… invincible almost.

The quirk was hereditary – the world later found out, meaning that each generation could add their own power to the armor, making it just that much stronger - as such, the armor passed hands from father to son when Champion the first retired who added his own power, then again from son to daughter who did the same, daughter to daughter, daughter to son for several more generations.

Yesterday, the torch changed hands again, from father to son.

Breaking from tradition – the mantle didn't transfer from parent to first born. It went to Champion's fifth son instead.

Challenger was far from anyone's first choice – to start he was Champion's seventh child and fifth born son with his second wife - a full four years younger than Challenger and significantly less experienced to match. It had only been a year since his official debut, and he hadn't kept much of a media presence since then.

He was considered a C-Lister. From surfing the local news, ignoring the headline and reading every other page, I knew otherwise.

'That's going to turn some heads,' I thought.

"…Triumph offered no insight to his father's choice, but Victor had this to say – …"

I was shaken out of my thoughts by a well-manicured hand that slipped past my shoulders, reaching to the table before me and placing a small plate of finger foods.

I turned around and came face to face with the very visage of reluctant attendance, the face of Melissa looking down to me, fully dressed in her evening gown – fresh off the 3d printer. A single piece cloth of glimmering red and green highlights, with a yellow sash tied to her waist.

I'd chosen to go with a similarly cut dress to her own, except with an inverse coloration and without the thigh slit to the side. We matched, sort of… rather, our apparel complemented each other's – me in an emerald green hip hugging short dress and red highlights, with a yellow sash around my waist.

"…been surfing the net again?" She asked, "Anything interesting?"

"Well… you owe me lunch," was my reply as I dismissed the video hovering over the article, putting the written piece on display and gave her my phone.

She eyed me strangely and took it from my hand before skimming over the contents. Her face was a myriad of expressions as she scrolled the written section, shock when she watched the snippet video, and resignation when she saw my smirking, smug self looking up to her with a mouthful of tiny sushi.

"…Challenger is the new Champion – huh… who saw that coming?" she said after a while, then added, "how's Victor taking it?"

I considered the question. How does one 'take' not being given the one thing 'everyone', ever, has told you was your birthright… to one's own cousin no less.

"He had a meltdown on live TV, so…. not very well," I replied, thinking back to the interview that followed the announcement, which had seen to the unravelling of Challenger's sanity as he raved and ranted obscenities to the camera.

Melissa didn't deign to watch the interview that followed the article as I had and took my word, but she did laugh a little at the thumb nail of a red-faced Victor– a sentiment I shared with her.

She was doing that more and more a lot often.

She sat down, and we talked of recent events – some talk of All Might came up, she was uncomfortable but didn't shy away from the topic like she had the past week.

Minutes passed, and more guests filtered in. Seats were filled, but the lights had yet to dim – which was odd, considering that the keynote should have started thirty minutes ago, and should have been nearing its end right about now.

I chalked it up to a delay and didn't further on it. The event planner on the table flashed, indicating that it was soon to be time for the drinks and appetizers to be served so I took out my phone once more, logged in to the event page and placed an order for our table.

Melissa, in classic American fashion, ordered herself a platter of mini hotdogs for the starter, a hamburger steak meal for the main, mousse medley for dessert and a fizzy cocktail for the drink.

I chose the classic Japanese - Sashimi and sushi for starter, Wagyu meal for main, Daifuku for dessert and warm sake – Professor David wouldn't have minded, I think… I was only a year off from the legal drinking age of 21 in America, same as Melissa.

The event page had some trouble accepting the order but after a couple of repeats it went through.

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed something strange. It was a pair of security detail moving into place.

They had… guns.

Glowing guns?

Rifles mostly, sometimes pistols, gauntlets, and greaves as well as other weaponry for those with more exotic biology.

Some were unarmed. I imagined them to be those with combat-oriented quirks.

Most, if not almost all of them, were outfitted with face-covering helmets that had dim visors at the front, thickly padded vests on their chest that were lined with pockets containing tools that stuck out, like radio communicators(closed network communicators. I recognized the distinct design), throwing knives, keycards, spare ammunition and support gear.

Unmarked support gear.

"Hey…," I nudged Melissa's side, catching her attention and asked her in a whisper, "what's with the guards?"

She looked around, and noticed the guards milling about the exits, standing on the above head platforms and the backstage as well.

"Dad said the board wanted tighter security for the gala," she replied, "They even got some third years from U.A for extra credit, I think."

She pointed to one of the students – the one who stood out the most.

The student was standing next to one of the punch bowls near the stage, talking to a bird-headed young man and another, a blonde boy with a black streak in his hair that zigged like a lightning bolt. She was a curvy round-faced girl in pink skin-tights with the limb paddings from an Out of Orbit Environment suit – for all the thickness the suit added to her frame, it fit her well… quite nicely too.

She saw me looking and smiled and waved.

I waved back and looked around some more. Some of the gathered were looking rather disgruntled by the delay. Five minutes past the start time of the gala's proceedings and the lights hadn't even dimmed yet.

That alone was suspect.

"Where are the servitors?" I asked.

"I think the new hires replaced the servitors…" Melissa replied, unsure and just as confused as I was.

Her tone made it obvious that she questioned the truth in her own words as much as I did.

Something strange was afoot.

I didn't so much doubt that the security servitors had been replaced… not at all. It was just that… It looked as though all the servitors had been replaced.

What gave it away wasn't the missing waiting staff and the malfunctioning event page.

Servitors malfunctioned every now and then, and websites crashed just as frequently… which wasn't a lot on I-Island, but that was the case everywhere else. Neither of which were things most people would realize were issues, but then… most people hadn't worked on I-Island Network maintenance for their third-year placement.

The system was near perfect. Operating at close to 97.77% efficiency.

I knew that for a fact - I'd done some work on it and made some of my own additions, approved of course.

The security detail was the most suspicious.

I'd been peripherally aware that I-Island was hiring human security detail to account for the recent surge in crime. I'd even seen some of the new hires earlier in the week setting up post around campus, research facilities and the Island borders.

They'd all been wearing a standardized set of uniform, grey with white highlights made from enforced fabrics, and outfitted with non-lethal weaponry - I had been too busy with assignments and Melissa, but I remembered now.

I looked back to the event security detail and something clicked into place. Anxiety and Panic surfaced but I pushed them down.

These weren't the uniforms I saw earlier in the week.

Most damning, more than the unmarked all-black combat suits they wore, was the black-market support gear, they were outfitted with.

The guns particularly.

Beside me, I saw Melissa shooting a text to Professor David… rather, trying to.

"… Dad's not answering his phone," she said, her eyes narrowed, and lips pursed.

I tried to look for him in the mess of the gathered, remembering his table number and found his table to be mostly empty, save for a single unarmed guard holding something in his hands, a phone… Professor David's phone. I recognised the blue and red and yellow All-Might themed case almost instantly. I didn't need my glasses for that.

The screen flashed once… I saw the light blink against his visor once. A text received. Then again as the screen dimmed, to indicate the message was received.

I may have panicked a little.

"What did you send him," I asked Melissa, clambering over to her side to take a peek on her screen.

She locked her phone with a squeeze to the sides and shied away from me when she saw me approach with intent - a instinctive response to someone reaching for your phone I'd found. I snatched her phone away from her and ignored the indignant shout as I then unlocked it with my fingerprint.

I tapped the home button, opening her phone and batted away her wandering hands as I tapped the display to show the most recent messages.

(now)to Dad: where r you?

(now)to Dad: zumi is fussing about you

My worries were unfounded I found, but it didn't help to quiet the growing pit in my belly.

The rest were conversations between Melissa and I, ones we had about which dress to wear, mostly consisting of me complaining against a cut and Melissa strongly insisting otherwise.

I looked away from the phone, handing it back to Melissa who immediately checked to see what I was looking at, all the while my eyes were on the 'guard' standing at Professor's David's seat.

The man was looking around the venue hall, phone still in his hands with intent in his eyes. He was looking for someone. He was looking for us. Melissa, specifically, as she'd been the one to send the message.

He knew someone knew something was going on, and he notified his boss… the man behind this strangeness, on the radio.

"We need to go to the bathroom," I stood up, taking Melissa's hand in my own, pulling her up towards me forcefully.

She yelped and made to complain but stopped once she got a good look at me. Melissa has often told me that I could communicate a thousand words with just a single look… my face was apparently just that expressive.

She squeezed my hand in hers just a little tighter, and her expressed changed to match mine – a calm façade, worried underneath. She got the message.

Whether it was the right message or not, it didn't matter – we were on the same page.

I led her to the punch bowl, near the first exit which was barricaded by two of the guards inside, and about five outside and more in the distance close by. I looked closer to the stage, where the second exit was located and saw some researchers make for the door, obviously bored by the long intermission. They asked the guard some questions, questions that I was too far away to hear but I imagine they were asking about the delay and they looked to be angry at the lack of response from the guard.

I saw the guard twitch in place, lean into his shoulder strapped radio communicator as he whispered something into it, then as he took off his mask and helmet.

He turned to face the researchers. He didn't say anything, but the two nodded dumbly and meandered back to their seats where they proceeded to seat back down on their seats, stare off into the distance, relaxed, dazed… hypnotized, and then proceed to resume chatting like they hadn't just argued with the guard.

A Quirk.

Visual Based Hypnosis, I thought… but crossed it out. It didn't make sense. Hypnosis required a trigger, something to direct the order. There'd been none of that with the man's quirk. He'd just stared at the researchers and they'd almost instantly calmed down, returned to their seats without input from him and had forgotten their worries.

Not Hypnotism then.

The guard's quirk was Pacificism, I surmised.

'A rather situational quirk,' I thought, 'but a useful one. Clearly.'

There was a lot of dazed eyes in the hall.

Wide-scale Pacifism, I noted. It explained why no one had complained about the half-hour delay – everyone who had, had been pacified and sent back to their seats by that one guard.

Melissa had seen it too, and I felt her grip in my arm tighten with worry. I nudged her elbow, and assured her with a smile… rather, I hoped I did.

It worked.

She breathed a sigh of relief and waited patiently beside me as I reached into my purse for sticky notes. She hovered just over my shoulder as I jotted down a message, in Japanese, that I then slipped into the round-faced student's suit when we passed her by to the wash closet.

I spared the venue one look and realized that, somehow, we were trapped inside the hall with these people… mercenaries most likely, and no one seemed to have realized it.

Not even the heroes were privy.

First course of action was to notify the most immediate authorities – the heroes in this case, which I did… discreetly too, when I slipped the note into the girl's suit. She may have been a student, but she was a third-year student at U.A Japan, the world number one Hero Academia. She was pretty much at the level of a pro-sidekick… that, and I reasoned it would look less suspicious and more natural if a student approached a pro-hero as opposed to a random nobody walking halfway across the hall to speak with a hero.

Second course of action was to find safety.

There was one area in the venue that was unguarded from what I could tell, and that was the inside toilet. It was a cordoned area – separate from the whole but also a dead-end, and the only door that lead to its entrance was also the way back out.

There was no reason to stand guard nearby.

After all, it would rouse suspicion if they did, and if the Pacifism quirk worked the way I thought it did then that was the last thing they needed.

That worked out just well for me… us.

A guard eyed us curiously from a distance, tensing as his hands hovered over the shoulder radio.

The way he was looking our way made me question if our departure for the rest-room had been too abrupt. Should that have been the case, then one wrong move from us and he'd press the radio and notify his boss.

Thankfully, his gaze washed over us and settled back to the venue… namely, where the UA students were seated.

I noticed there were very few heroes. Significantly less than there should have been. The Japanese delegation for example was almost all missing – no Best Jeanist, Endeavour, or the UA teachers in sight. Mount Lady, Hawks and Kamui Woods were the only ones I could see that were in attendance.

"Where are the other heroes?"

I gave her a look and directed her to the unoccupied rest-room in an orderly fashion… dragging her along all the while and locked us into the farthest stall.

"Those guards are villains aren't they?" Melissa asked, giving voice to the one thing that had been on my mind the whole while.

"… yeah."

"Where's dad?"

"I don't know?" was my reply.

A lie.

Professor David had been there with us at the start, at the door, skulking about near the drinks table and talking to colleagues about this and that until he wasn't. He'd disappeared.. I hadn't seen it with my eyes, but my gut was screaming at me – that he, along with the other missing professors, had been taken by the man behind this… espionage.

"You're lying," she knew.

There were tears forming at the edge of her eyes, her voice cracking and a sob threatened to spill from her mouth.

I pulled her in for a hug… rather, I tried to, but she pushed me back, blocking my attempt at assurance.

She wiped away at her tears, and a fire lit up in her eyes. Determination, I thought but there was a harsh glow to it… a hint of something darker.

She took my hands in hers and pulled me in closer.

"We have to find him," she said.

"We will," I promised.

"I can't lose him too Izumi. He's all I have left."

"Don't worry, I won't let that happen," I assured her, pulling out my tablet from my purse, booting it up then pressed a function key before the screen could change to home.

Melissa leaned in for a peek, and gasped.

"Is that…a root kit?" she asked, scandalized.

There was no easy answer to her question. I tried to give one anyway.

"Remember when I took cyber-security?"

"…yeah. Only second year class we didn't share. What about it?"

"Remember that term assignment I said you couldn't help with?"

Melissa paused, remembering.

"… I'm not very good with soft work, you know that - but I do remember something about… you having to create a way around a sandbox defense… right?"

"I got extra credit for that."

"Yeah," she smiled, fondly reminiscing, "I remember that."

"…," she saw me type in commands onto the screen, - most of them macro-d, for convenience, as I inserted myself into the heavily compromised Island Network system.

Her smile fell when she started to remember the particulars, "Didn't dad give you a stern talking to after that."

"Yeah, that's the one where you tried to h… no… you didn't?"

"I succeeded actually…its why I got in trouble in the first place."

"You broke into I-Island cyber security"

I smiled, hopefully in a manner that was disarming. I was, maybe, committing a felony to foil another felony – a greater crime at that.

She glared at me but didn't chastise.

She leaned over and did what she could – which wasn't much. Her specialty was solely in the development and advancement of hardware, with a soft focus on software so all she did was look at seemingly random bits of code, none of which she understood.

I, on the other hand, ran a sweep of the network in limited function. Immediately, I noticed that someone had shut down the alarm system Island wide, then subsumed the servitor network. The servitors were, for the moment, all on standby, seemingly awaiting an update packet which I deduced to be a complete reprogramming from the perpetrator.

"Keep a look out."

Melissa nodded, and stood guard behind me.

"I'll get us a way out of here."