Heist? I'd Prefer to Call it a Field Test! [Yojin + Goro]

Yojin jumped, then immediately tried to hide it by acting like he was just shifting to get a better look at the new comer. Holy shit, the dude was quiet. Yojin’s hand slid a into his toolbag, curling around the handle of the crowbar inside. He wasn’t actually completely unarmed. Though he had a feeling if it actually came to defending himself against this guy, he might as well have been weaponless.

“Mmm. If I’m not, this is going to be a hilarious misunderstanding.” He replied, managing to get his voice under control, keeping it flat and professional.

The metallic suit the newcomer was wearing made him stare, bringing a thousand questions to the tip of his tongue. Like. Holy shit. The spikes. The wings. Were those mechanical, or was he a mutant of some sort? It was obviously bladed, but did it have any other features? Night vision maybe, or noise dampening? He wanted to take it apart, and look at it piece by piece.

That--or hell, even asking questions, was probably a good way to get himself stabbed. He forced himself to take a mental snapshot, vowing to draw it as best he could later, then refocused on the plan.

“Alright. So. Like I said in the message--call me Fix. You got a name, or you want me to come up with one?” Yojin asked, still trying to play the role of the hardened professional. He let go of the crowbar, pulling out his phone, careful to aim it away from the bat dude to make sure it was clear he wasn’t taking a picture.

“We’ve got around twenty minutes to set up, so I’m going to be quick. We’re hitting an armored truck--one driver, one security in the cab. They’ve got tasers at least, maybe guns.” Yojin explained, flipping through his phone to bring up pictures of the vehicle he’d taken. It was a big, heavy-looking vehicle--like a semi-truck on steroids, with clear Osagawara markings. ”I stop the truck. You deal with the driver and guard, and we just...take the truck.”

Yojin looked up, flipping open a few more images on the phone--the trick passing this very street, stopping at the stop-sign he was next to. It was a careful dance right now--working with his new partner, while trying not to show too much weakness.

“You got a preferred tactic for this kinda thing? I’m guessing you’re melee-focused.” He asked, staring at the spiked armor again. Goddamn. It really was cool. He’s specified non-lethal, though.

For some reason, those spikes struck him as very not non-lethal.

@goro

“Knives and unarmed, um...Black Out. Gotcha.” Yojin replied, his voice now much more casual than he felt. He was very, very tempted to try to come up with a nickname for his accomplice anyway, but that was a stupid, suicidal part of his brain talking.

Meanwhile, the saner parts of Yojin’s brain were coming to a conclusion that he probably should have realized the moment “Black Out” had landed next to him: He was working with a goddamn supervillain. Not muscle for hire, not just a thug with a quirk, an actual, costume-and-name supervillain. Standing next to him right now, spiked armor and all, was one of the names that haunted the halls of UA--a Thundershock, or an Abbadon. It was entirely possible that one of his teachers had battled this man in the past. It was even more likely that one of his classmates, like Chimera, or Alex would fight them in the future.

It was terrifying. Spine-chilling, even.

It was also weirdly thrilling.

This was an opportunity no UA student he knew had gotten--standing next to a villain, working alongside them, getting to see how they fought, and learn what made them who they were. Yojin had never understood what kind of megalomania and malice lead to someone taking to the leap from street criminal to supervillain. Perhaps, after this, he’d understand better.

Well. If he survived.

Yojin watched the minutes tick past on his phone, silent and contemplative, as he waited for the truck to arrive. Every time he saw the headlights of a car flash in down one of the streets, he felt himself tense, but none of them passed by their intersection. The night remained quiet and empty.

Five minutes until the truck should arrive.

Three minutes until the truck should arrive.

Two minutes.

He’d waited long enough.

Yojin walked up to the lamppost on his side of the intersection, leaving his moped back in the ally. He made sure to keep his mask up. He’d checked this area for cameras the night before, but there was no such thing as too careful. Reaching out, he pressed the tips of his fingers against the post, and let out a breath of tension, his quirk flickering to life.

Somewhere in the lamp-post, the transformer that powered the signal light, and streetlamp for the intersection crackled and fried as he shorted the breaker. The signal went dead. It would have been less suspicious if he could have hacked it to stay red, instead of killing it completely, but Yojin was a blunt instrument. What mattered is without a signal, the truck would have to stop, or at least slow down. And without a light, it would be much harder to see him and Black Out.

Yojin walked back to his accomplice, sliding back onto his moped, and then slung his tool-bag on the rack on the back of his bike, so it wouldn’t catch on anything while he was driving. He pulled out the crowbar from it first, though, holding it parallel to the handlebars of his bike.

“Just about time.” He muttered softly. “That’s a killer suit, by the way--make it, or buy it?”

...Really? He went for small talk now of all times?

Down the street, a pair of high-power beams rounded the corner. They were blindingly bright, illuminating the whole street, bright enough it was hard to make out the vehicle behind it. Yojin knew what it was, though. He’d been watching the truck for days, now.

It was the Osagarwara transport.

He felt his stomach tighten, dread and exciting flooding his veins.

“It’s fun time.” He mumbled.

@goro

Yojin was nervous enough without Black Out’s mad cackle echoing through the street behind him. The “laughter before violence” was the sort of thing he’d have relentless mocked in daylight--what was the point of advertising your presence? At night, though--well, he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t put chills down his spine.

What sort of maniac was he working with?

Luckily, his back was turned to Black Out while he was on the moped. That meant his accomplice couldn’t see his face. And there was no time for fear. He’d made a plan. All he had to do was stick to the plan.

The truck roared down the street, not fast, but big, with the kind of mass and momentum behind it that took a while to stop. But it had to slow down--with the cut light at the intersection, it was the sanest thing to do. With it stopped, pulling up in a blind spot and working his magic was going to be child’s play.

The truck flashed past the alleyway. Yojin kicked off, using his quirk to cold-rev the engine he’d added to the moped, and flood it with nitrous, letting the little vehicle accelerate much faster than it had any right to, a high-pitched roar filling the night and blue flames flaring from the tailpipe. He leaned his body into the turn, snaking around the corner behind the truck, wind whistling in his ears as he gained speed.

It was then that the first hitch in the plan emerged.

The truck hadn’t slowed down for the broken light.

That’s illegal! Yojin thought, before reminding himself that trusting other people to obey the law where he was in the process of breaking it was a fundamentally stupid assumption.

Fine. As complications went, this was pretty straightforward. He kept on the acceleration, gunning his moped into the truck’s driver-side blind spot, like a gnat assaulting a horse. If it swerved--if he wasn’t fast enough, he’d be crushed.

Somehow, Yojin’s fear had faded into excitement.

He came up next to the truck, a hunched over, helmetless teen in a yellow mask next to giant industrial monster, and matched his speed to it. Then he sucked in a breath. This was the hard part.
He took a hand off the handlebars of his moped and held it out to the truck, and swerved in closer. His fingers slapped against the vibrating metal of the truck.

Then he split his focus, and he became the truck.

The wonderful thing about machines is they all worked off the same basic principles.

First, he disconnected the drive shaft--something most trucks were built to do to keep them from taking damage from towing. A corner of his mind envisioned the sudden panic of the driver as they realized they couldn’t steer anymore. He brushed it aside, and eased on the breaks, turning the wheel to take the truck into a controlled slide.

The truck let out an ear-shredding screech of metal under strain as he killed its momentum, and he fought for control--the front wheel of his moped began to shake as he braked to keep pace, and he dropped the truck for a moment, shifting his quirk back to his bike, stabilizing it. The truck’s slide continued, and he felt a rush of panic, taking his quirk out of the bike, and back into it, going through another set of minor corrections.

It felt like the whole process had taken minutes, but it had been seconds at the most--they’re barely crossed the intersection, as they both slid to a stop in the middle of the road, still in the pool of shadows left from his broken streetlight. Yojin hunched over his bike, breathing hard. His head was spinning--he felt like he was going to be sick.

But he wasn’t quite done yet.

He cut the engine. Then he locked the passenger side-door.

A second later, he heard the driver’s side swing open, a man in a corporate security uniform--black jumpsuit, armored vest stepping out, drawing out a fat-barreled taser from his belt.

@goro

Yojin slumped over the handlebars of his moped, panting for breath. The trick with the truck had ended up much more complicated than he’d planned--he’d had to split his focus faster than he’d ever remembered doing before. The effort had left his head spinning--if he tried to stand right now, he’d probably throw up. So as Black Out closed in on the driver, all he could do it watch, and pray his accomplice had remembered his warning about going too far.

The first guard barely saw what hit him. He twisted, registering the soft whoosh of wings a second too late--Goro saw the man’s eyes widen in shock right before his kick plowed into the guard’s face with a crunch of breaking bone, sending the guard tumbling to the ground.

Before Yojin finish processing what had happened, Goro’s punch slammed through the side window of the cabin, where the second guard was fumbling with the lock Yojin had jammed. The window shattered, Goro’s fist leaving a hole in the center of a spider-web of broken glass, but there wasn’t room for a wing-swipe.

Goro couldn’t see the guard through the broken glass, but the grunt of pain and impact told him he’d managed a clean punch to the jaw. A second later, before he could pull his fist back, a taser clicked, and he felt electric prongs hit the armor on his arm, trying to find a gap in the protective suit.

Yojin watched in stunned silence. He was getting used to seeing quirkers fight--Alex and Chimera at the training camp, and Maxi at the cafe. There was a clean economy to Black Out’s motions that was new to him, however. Every attack his accomplice made had a sort of focused intent behind it, with minimal wasted effort.

If there had been any question in his mind that his accomplice was very dangerous, it was answered.

Yojin forced himself to tear his eyes away from the fight. He had his own job to do, and they were on a timetable. He slipped off his bike, rolling it to back of the truck. This had been the part of his plan that, amusingly, it had taken him the longest to come up. He’d figured out how to stop the truck, and open the lock on the back pretty quickly, and had known the moment he saw the guards he was going to need help.

The problem was, they weren’t stealing cash, or even gold bars. They were grabbing costume material and armor, which was bulky. He’d almost resigned himself to only grabbing a backpack each. It would have been lucrative, sure...but he wasn’t sure it would be worth the effort.

Then he’d realized: Why not just take the entire truck?

Yojin let out a grunt of effort, lifting his bike onto the back step, first one wheel, then the next. Someday, he was going to replace his moped with a real motorcycle. Today, though, he was just glad it was light.

He pulled a set of bungee cables out of his satchel, and carefully tied his bike in place, strapped to the handles on the back of the truck. It wasn’t pretty, but it was better than leaving evidence, and his sole means of transportation behind.

Then he started to walk back to the cab, still half-expecting to find a body waiting for him.

“How’s it looking?” He muttered, voice dry.

@goro

Goddamn. That had been so fast. Blackout’s quirk had barely played a part, too--it had all been martial arts. In theory, that was something Yojin might be able to learn to do.

Nope. No. Stupid idea. Do not ask your new criminal accomplice how to do bat-fu.

Still--even if keeping this pure business was the only sane option, Yojin was absurdly grateful Blackout was keeping this professional. If the villain had actually gone and killed someone...he hadn’t really had a plan. Not a good one, anyway.

“Ace.” Yojin muttered, shaking his head and staring at the fallen guards. He felt half in shock himself. Part of him wanted to call it off, go over and help them with their injuries. Give Blackout the truck. No. He wasn’t going to fold. “Hop in. Gonna blow this scene.”

Yojin grabbed the driver’s door of the cab, and the lock clicked open with a pulse of his quirk, letting him swing himself into the seat. Now came the second challenge for him.

Yojin had never driven anything except his moped before. And this was a pretty damn big truck.

He adjusted the seat, glad his mask kept the worry from showing on his face. God, he could barely see over the dashboard. It felt like he was so high off the ground. Still, in theory, it shouldn’t be that hard. Driving was driving. He just needed to account for the extra weight and mass.

He reached out his quirk again, and with a hiss of effort, reconnected the drive train. Man, if he’d forgotten that, it would have been a very short escape into the nearest building. Now, once Blackout was in, Yojin just needed to shift the truck into drive…

There was a terrible grinding noise from the engine, and the truck lurched forward. Shit! Right. It was manual. Clutch. He’d forgotten the clutch. Yojin quickly hammered down on the clutch, and the truck started to roll forward much more smoothly, the engine groaning from strain. Huh. Had he damaged it?

Maybe he should just ask Blackout to drive. The villain seemed like an adult. Well, a young adult. He could probably drive.

Yojin had already picked out a route, though. Besides...it would look really lame if he had to ask for help driving a fucking truck. He had this. Really.

“There we go. Gonna take a bit of a long route, make sure we’re not tailed.” Yojin muttered, most of his attention fixed on the road. Slow and steady, then pick up speed. It was dark, so if they passed civilians, they might not notice the broken window, and probably wouldn’t care. He just had to be careful about turns.

“Don’t recognize that combat style, you ex-military?” Yojin muttered to Blackout. It was a bit weird to be making conversation, but the drive was going to drag if he didn’t try.