Chapter Text
“The medium is the message.” – Marshall McLuhan
Doubletake: 27th Showdown
The camera pans across a dimly lit room, the faint hum of a computer setup buzzing like a hive of unseen activity. A single monitor casts a ghostly glow, illuminating the meticulously arranged desk cluttered with cryptic notes, playing cards, and an antique pocket watch. A deep, reverberating voiceover cuts through the oppressive silence.
“Welcome back, everyone!”
The voice, smooth yet chilling, seems to stretch the word everyone into something intimate, almost conspiratorial. The camera pulls back, revealing two figures standing side by side.
One, a man in a sleek, fitted suit, radiates an aura of calculated control. His mask, a grotesque grin with jagged teeth and empty, hollow eyes, twists the human face into a sinister caricature. He adjusts his cufflinks with deliberate precision, exuding an air of authority.
The other, dressed in an elegant showman’s attire, contrasts sharply. His mask, a garishly cheerful creation with exaggerated lashes, painted lips, and flushed cheeks, feels disturbingly out of place against his muscular frame. His movements are sharp, almost theatrical, as he steps forward, spreading his arms wide as if addressing an eager audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Showman 2 begins, his voice dripping with mock cheerfulness. “Or should I say participants in tonight’s grand design?” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air. “You voted, you demanded, and we, are here to deliver!”
Showman 1 clasps his hands together. “A reflection of your desires, laid bare for the world to see. And tonight…” He gestures toward the camera, his grin almost audible. “We grant you your wish.”
The screen flickers, shifting to a grainy, static-filled display. It transitions seamlessly to a clip of a figure bound to a chair in an abandoned warehouse. The victim’s face is tear streaked, their muffled screams audible but unintelligible. A timer ticks ominously in the corner of the screen.
Showman 2 tilts his head, his mask’s painted lashes giving the gesture an unnerving depth. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. They chose this. Voted. And isn’t democracy the purest form of justice?” He chuckles, the sound reverberating eerily.
“Indeed!” Showman 1 agrees, stepping into the foreground. “Our guest of honor tonight has quite the résumé aswell. Extortion. Trafficking. Unspeakable acts hidden behind the façade of power. But no more.”
The camera zooms out, revealing a sprawling rooftop. The two masked figures stand next to a sleek rifle mounted on a tripod. The backdrop is a city skyline, its lights blinking like distant stars.
Showman 2 kneels beside the rifle, adjusting the scope with practiced ease. “Theatrics are fun,” he says, his voice dripping with mock amusement. “But precision? Precision is art.”
Showman 1 leans down, his mask inches from the lens. “And tonight, you’re watching the masterpiece unfold in real time.”
The camera angle shifts again, this time showing the victim through the rifle’s scope. The red laser dot hovers over their chest, a small beacon of impending doom.
“What’s our time, colleague?” Showman 2 asks, his tone light but charged with anticipation.
“Two minutes,” Showman 1 replies smoothly, glancing at the pocket watch he retrieved from the desk earlier. “Enough to savor the moment, don’t you think?”
Showman 2 chuckles, the sound muffled yet menacing through his mask. “I suppose so"
The screen splits, one half showing the victim struggling in their binds, the other zoomed in on Showman 2’s gloved hand gripping the rifle’s trigger. The tension builds, the faint tick-tock of the timer amplifying the oppressive silence.
“And now,” Showman 1 announces, his voice rising like a conductor guiding an orchestra, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”
Showman 2 pulls the trigger. The rifle fires with a sharp, resonant crack, the sound slicing through the night like a blade. The victim jerks violently, the red dot now replaced by a spreading crimson stain. They slump forward, lifeless.
The camera lingers on the scene, the stillness more chilling than the act itself. After a moment, it cuts back to the masked duo, who now stand in perfect, unsettling silence.
Showman 1 is the first to break it, spinning dramatically to face the camera. “Another vote honored!”
Showman 2 inclines his head, his hands clasped behind his back. “The votes for next week will be released soon, so we'll apreciate if you vote for the following winner.”
The screen fades to black, but the sound of Showman 1’s voice lingers, haunting and final. “Until next time, dear viewers!”
The video ends abruptly, leaving a lingering silence that feels heavier than any sound.
"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." — Martin Luther King Jr.
“This again?” she muttered, her voice tinged with weariness.
Sero leaned over the back of the couch, resting his chin on his hands. “What do you expect? It’s been 27 weeks. You’d think the police or someone would’ve shut them down by now.”
“The videos come back no matter what. I heard from my parents that the police has been considering giving up on closing the site.” Yaoyorozu added from the kitchen.
“Honestly, what kind of person even votes on those things?” Ashido asked, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “It’s creepy to vote for a person to die, even if they were bad.”
“Still,” Kaminari added hesitantly, “it’s kind of terrifying how good they are at what they do. Did you see how precise that shot was? From the angle, the distance—”
“They’re murderers, Denki,” Jiro snapped, shooting him a glare. “Don’t make it sound impressive.”
“I’m just saying…” Kaminari trailed off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
Monoma entered the room with a dramatic flourish, holding a cup of tea. “Isn’t it fascinating, though?” he began, his tone as theatrical as ever.
“You sound way too impressed for my liking,” Shinsou muttered, raising an eyebrow at Monoma.
“Impressed? Hardly,” Monoma replied, feigning indignation. “I’m merely observing the brilliance of their strategy. Unlike you simpletons, I can appreciate a well-executed plan, even if it’s distasteful.”
“It’s more than distasteful,” Iida said firmly, adjusting his glasses as he walked into the room. “It’s an affront to justice! The very idea that they can operate with such impunity for so long is an embarrassment to law enforcement.”
“Speaking of justice,” Denki began, his brow furrowed in thought, “why haven’t the heroes caught them yet? I mean, with all the surveillance and tech we have…”
“They’re careful,” Jirou said, tapping her laptop. “Whoever these ‘showmen’ are, they know how to cover their tracks. The site’s encrypted beyond belief, and every time it’s taken down, it pops back up on a different server.”
“It’s like trying to fight a ghost,” Todoroki mused.
“Or a hydra,” Yaoyorozu corrected, her tone thoughtful. “Cut off one head, and two more grow in its place.”
A tense silence settled over the room as the students exchanged uneasy glances. On the screen, the news anchor continued, her voice strained as she listed the crimes of the latest victim and recounted the horrifying precision of their public execution.
“They’re making a mockery of everything heroes stand for,” Jiro finally said, her voice low but resolute. “And we’re all just sitting here, watching it happen.”
“What can we do?” Sero asked, his usual levity absent. “We’re students. This is way out of our league.”
“For now,” Shinsou muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stared at his screen. “But if they ever slip up, even a little, I’ll be ready.”
Monoma smirked, raising his tea in a mock toast. “And when they do, I’ll be the first to expose them. After all, who better than me to take down a pair of theatrical maniacs?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jiro said, rolling her eyes. But there was a flicker of determination in her gaze, mirrored by the others.
The screen cut to commercial, but the unease lingered in the air like a storm cloud. Despite their bravado, each of them felt the same chilling truth.
The “showmen” were still out there, and they were always one step ahead.
“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.” – Charles Baudelaire
The café buzzed faintly with the hum of conversations, clinking ceramic cups, and the occasional whir of a coffee grinder. Shinso Hitoshi stepped inside, the familiar scent of roasted beans and freshly baked pastries greeting him like an old friend. The soft glow of hanging lights illuminated the rustic decor—wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and potted plants nestled in the corners. He spotted them sitting at a corner booth.
Izuku was hunched over his phone, scrolling furiously, with Katsuki sitting next to him, one arm slunging lazily over the back of the chair and his other hand gripping a steaming mug, while watching whatever the other was. His eyes flicked toward the door as Shinso approached.
“’Bout time, brainwasher,” Bakugo grunted, gesturing to the seat in front of Izuku. “We don’t got all day.”
“Nice to see you too, Bakugo,” Shinso replied with a wry smirk, sliding into the booth.
“Shinso!” Izuku exclaimed, putting his phone down to give his friend a wide grin. “How have you been? How’s UA treating you? Have you gotten any hero's authograph!?”
“Pfft, as if.” Shinso said, leaning back and stretching slightly. “But I'm good. It took time, but they’re finally treating me like I belong there, though I still feel like the odd one out sometimes.”
Izuku nodded empathetically. “You’ve had to work twice as hard to prove yourself. But knowing you, you’ll keep doing it.”
“Damn right he will,” Bakugo interjected, raising his mug.
Shinso raised his brows at Bakugo’s words, surprised he would even admit something good about anyone. “Right," he said, changing the topic, "how is she doing? It’s been, what, a year since everything happened?”
Bakugo’s face softened slightly, though his voice was still gruff. “She’s doing better. She’s still got her moments, but the old hag’s tougher than most people give her credit for.”
Izuku chimed in, his tone thoughtful. “I think getting her back into her hobbies really helped. But you know, she really appreciated the help last year, Shinso. You showing up when you did—it meant a lot.”
Shinso shrugged, his expression subdued. “It was the least I could do. After what happened that day... well, no one should go through that alone.”
The three fell into a moment of silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The sound of a notification broke the quiet, Izuku’s phone buzzing loudly on the table. He picked it up, his cheerful expression faltering.
“Oh no... they uploaded the voting panel again.”
Bakugo scoffed, leaning forward. “What, those Showdown freaks? They still going?”
“Every week,” Izuku muttered, his voice tinged with unease. “I don’t even know why I get these notifications. I’ve never subscribed to anything related to them.”
Shinso frowned, his hands curling into fists. “That site is disgusting. Turning crimes and people’s lives into some sick entertainment? It’s everything wrong with the world rolled into one.”
Izuku nodded slowly, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s terrifying how popular it’s gotten. Even people who don’t agree with it still watch.”
“Because people are weak,” Bakugo growled, slamming his mug down. “They love the idea of justice without having to get their hands dirty. Cowards.”
Shinso leaned forward, his voice low but seething with anger. “The worst part is how they hide behind excuses. Like voting on someone’s life makes it fair. It’s sick.”
Bakugo tilted his head. “Speaking of which, ever voted on it?”
Shinso froze, his lips parting slightly, but no words came out. His gaze darted away, focusing on the steam curling up from Bakugo’s mug.
“Your face says it all!” Izuku exclaimed, leaning closer with wide eyes. “You totally did!”
“Yeah, spill it, brainwasher,” Bakugo prodded, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Why’s Mr. Righteous so worked up about it if he’s part of the problem?”
Shinso sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Yes, I voted once. Just once. But it was for the person with the least votes. I knew it wouldn’t matter.”
Izuku frowned, tilting his head. “Still... doesn’t that kind of make you part of it? Even if your vote didn’t contribute to anyone’s death.”
Shinso’s jaw tightened, and he leaned back against the booth. “That’s why I hate it so much. I let curiosity get the better of me, and now I feel like I have blood on my hands. It’s a system designed to trap you, to make you complicit. And once you’re in, it’s hard to look away.”
The table went quiet again, the weight of his words settling over them.
Finally, Izuku broke the silence. “I get it. But you shouldn't blame yourself. We all make mistakes.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered, crossing his arms. “Just don’t let that guilt turn you into one of those morons who gets off on it.”
Shinso chuckled dryly. “Don’t worry. I won't.”
Izuku shifted the conversation, his tone lighter. “So, indivudually speaking how are your classmates treating you? Monoma still being, well, Monoma?”
Shinso smirked. “Of course. He never misses a chance to rub it in whatever he does slightly better than anyone. But honestly? I think he’s just jealous.”
Bakugo snorted. “He’s jealous of everyone. That guy’s a walking inferiority complex.”
Izuku grinned. “But you’ve got Eraserhead looking out for you, right? For what you said, he seems really proud of how far you’ve come.”
“Yeah,” Shinso said, his voice softening. “He’s been... a lot more supportive than I expected. Feels good to have someone in my corner.”
Bakugo leaned back, folding his arms with a smirk. “Damn right you’ve got someone in your corner. You are the perfect fit to have someone as insomniac as him to look out for you.”
Shinso rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the heartfelt encouragement, Bakugo. Really touching.”
Izuku chuckled, stirring his tea. “Well, it’s true. You’ve more than proven yourself. Eraserhead doesn’t take just anyone under his wing, you know.”
Shinso’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah, I know. He doesn’t say it outright, but I can tell he’s proud. He’s just... not the most expressive guy.”
“Understatement of the year,” Bakugo muttered, taking another sip of his coffee.
Izuku glanced at Shinso again, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So... what’s next for you? Any big plans?”
Shinso shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Survive the next round of training without embarrassing myself, for starters. Beyond that? Guess I’ll just keep proving I belong.”
“You don’t need to prove anything,” Izuku said firmly. “You’re already one of them.”
“Izuku’s right,” Bakugo added, though his tone was gruffer. “You’re UA now. Start acting like it.”
Shinso stared at them for a moment, a rare warmth filling his chest. “Thanks, guys.”
Shinso’s phone buzzed, drawing his attention. He glanced at the screen, his expression tightening slightly. “Looks like I’ve gotta head out. Something’s come up.”
Izuku frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, nothing major. Just gotta take care of it,” Shinso replied, sliding out of the booth. He gave them a small nod. “Thanks for the company, though. It’s been... nice.”
“Don’t make it sound so dramatic, brainwasher,” Bakugo grumbled. “Just get out of here already.”
Shinso smirked faintly. “Later, you two.”
As the door swung shut behind him, Izuku turned to Bakugo, his brows furrowed. “He seemed... distracted.”
Bakugo shrugged. “Probably overthinking, like always,” he sipped his mug before setting it down. “By the way, earlier... did you reconfigure the site to send notifications now?”
Izuku raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smug grin. “What, you think I’ve got nothing better to do than mess with that crap?”
“It’s not like you wouldn’t,” Katsuki countered.
Izuku snorted. “Relax, I still didn't choose the options for the people to vote for. That notification wasn’t from the site. It was from Mitsuki. She said she saw the latest video and has... ‘notes.’” His tone grew sarcastic at the last word.
Katsuki exhaled. “Well, that’s... good, I guess. So, who should we nominate for this week's vote?"
Izuku’s grin turned sharp, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Stain?” he asked innocently.
“No way.” Bakugo interrupted, his voice firm. “He would be voted instantly, meaning we would have to find him, and we know little to nothing about him with the exception of his name and how he has been rising slowly into the known by killing pro-heroes who have way more experience than teenagers.”
Izuku’s green eyes met Bakugo’s, determination slowly building in his gaze. “You’re right. Let’s learn more about him and put him on the votes other week then,” he paused, before adding "hey, you are getting the hang on being more careful on this."
Bakugo smirked. “Careful’s your department. I handle the fireworks.”
Izuku nodded, chuckling at his words. His fingers paused over the keys for a moment, his eyes flickering thoughtfully as he turned to Bakugo. “Alright, so we’re not going with the obvious choices, huh? No big names like Stain or Giran.”
Bakugo gave a sharp nod, smirking. “Yeah, we need someone off the radar, someone just starting to make waves but hasn’t hit mainstream yet.”
Izuku’s mind started to turn, brainstorming. “Okay, so we need people who’ve been quietly causing chaos but aren’t connected to the usual suspects.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking over to Bakugo. “How about the guy who calls himself ‘The Mirage’? He’s been linked to some smaller underground deals. No one's really sure who he is, but his influence’s been spreading.”
Bakugo’s eyes lit up. “I like it. The Mirage is a good choice. He’s been around but no one really knows what he’s capable of. That’ll make it fun to see what kind of dirt we can dig up on him.”
Izuku grinned, already adding The Mirage’s name to the list on his screen. “Exactly. He’s the kind of guy who hides in the shadows but still manages to manipulate the system without anyone noticing. Perfect for a vote that won’t immediately blow back on us.”
Bakugo nodded, thinking for a moment. “Alright, who’s next?”
Izuku’s eyes flicked to the side, as if looking for inspiration in the air around him. Then, his eyes brightened. “There’s a guy called ‘Null’. He’s been moving under the radar, causing trouble with some vigilante groups, but his motives are pretty unclear. No one knows if he’s actually out for justice or just wants to stir things up, but there have been reports of people acusing him of murdering some innocent people.”
Bakugo chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I like it. He’s dangerous, and he’s got people talking behind the scenes.”
Izuku nodded. “Exactly. We’ll put both of them up for the vote. Null and The Mirage. People will be curious about them, but they won’t have the same pull as the bigger names. It’ll be just the right amount of heat.”
Bakugo leaned back, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Perfect. Let’s see how these two idiots handle the spotlight.”
Izuku smirked, adding the finishing touches to the post. “This is going to be interesting. Let’s just hope they’re ready for it.”
Bakugo grunted, raising his mug again. “They won’t be. No one ever is.”
Izuku hit send, and the countdown for the next round began.
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." - J.R.R. Tolkien
The atmosphere in Denki’s room was chaotic, as usual. The walls were plastered with various posters—some of heroes, others of bands, and some were simply reminders of the various ongoing class projects. A large, cluttered desk sat against the far wall, papers scattered across it in organized chaos. Denki had attempted to make it into a study space, but his roommates quickly turned it into a battlefield of snacks, arguments, and misplaced textbooks.
“Denki, will you please stop playing that game? We’re supposed to be studying!” Jiro’s voice was sharp, annoyance evident as she glared at the screen where Denki’s video game character was narrowly dodging an explosion.
Denki glanced up, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I’m almost done, Jiro. Just one more round!” He tapped the controller, oblivious to the growing frustration in the room.
Mina sat cross-legged on the floor, munching on chips and chuckling at Denki’s antics. “It’s fine, Jiro! He’s just letting off steam. You know how he is.”
“But we’re supposed to be studying! I’m trying to focus, but you guys are making it impossible!” Jiro’s voice cracked slightly, a sign that her patience was waning.
“I’m with Jiro,” Monoma spoke up, his arms folded as he leaned against the doorframe. He had been uncharacteristically quiet, more interested in the tension than contributing much to the studying. “Denki, you always do this when it’s time to work. You need to get serious.”
Denki shot Monoma a look, clearly offended. “I’m serious when I need to be! Just… not right now, okay? It’s a break, Monoma.”
Jiro snorted, rolling her eyes. “A break? It’s been two hours of breaks and you’re still not studying!”
“That’s a good point, actually,” Mina added, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But, hey, maybe we can do something else instead, huh?”
“Sure, what’s your great idea now?” Jiro raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear.
Mina leaned forward, grinning wide. “To investigate about the whole ‘Criminal Showdown’ thing. It’s a freakin’ mystery.”
Monoma’s eyes gleamed with interest, his usual theatrical flair coming back. “Ah, now you’re speaking my language.”
Jiro crossed her arms, her annoyance from earlier simmering down into something more thoughtful. “As much as I'd hate to deny it, it's true I can’t get it out of my head. They’ve been doing this for 27 weeks, and not one clue about who they are or how they keep getting away with it.”
Denki, who had put down his controller, leaned forward on the bed, his curiosity piqued. “Yeah! And every time someone tries to trace them, the feed just disappears. It’s like they’re playing with everyone.”
“They’re not playing with everyone, Denki,” Jiro muttered, her eyes narrowing. “They’re making a mockery of everything we stand for. Everything the heroes do.”
Mina tossed her chips aside, excitement building. “But what if we try to find them? We could crack this case wide open!”
Monoma raised an eyebrow, the idea clearly catching his attention. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you suggesting we, a bunch of students, go after two masked murderers who have been operating in the shadows for weeks?”
Mina scoffed. “I’m not saying we take them down physically. But we could figure out who they are. Expose them. Show the world that someone is doing something about it. It could be our chance to help!”
Monoma leaned forward, a devious smirk playing on his lips. “That is… kind of brilliant. I mean, who better than me to crack a case like this?”
Jiro shot him a deadpan stare. “Oh sure, Monoma. You’ll ‘crack the case’ by showing off your ‘amazing’ observational skills, right?”
Monoma shrugged, unfazed. “Better than sitting around doing math while everyone else is not.”
Denki rubbed his hands together, more excited now than he’d been the entire evening. “I’m in!”
“Fine.” Jiro sighed, nodding slowly. “I’m in too. But we stick to the facts. We find out who they are, and then we make sure the heroes have everything they need to catch them. We don’t go doing anything reckless.”
Mina clapped her hands together, clearly thrilled. “It’s settled then! We’re going to figure out who these masked freaks are. And when we do, we’ll expose them for good!”
Monoma stepped forward, holding out his hand dramatically. “The four of us. Partners in crime.”
Jiro looked at the outstretched hand, then back at the group, considering the idea. After a beat, she nodded and shook his hand. “Partners. But remember, we’re not getting distracted by this—our studies still come first.”
Denki grinned. “Sure, sure. Study group by day, masked villain hunters by night. Sounds like a plan.”
“Fine,” Jiro agreed, though there was a gleam in her eye. “Let’s get to work.”