Chapter 2
"But how?" Yuki asked, folding her wings against her back. "How do we even get out? We don't know where the exit is, or if there even is one."
"And we're strong, but are we strong enough?" Hana added quietly, one of her spiders crawling across her shoulder. "What if they catch us? What if they have weapons? Or Quirks?"
Kaito crossed his arms, his furred hands flexing. "She's got a point. We can hunt and fight and survive, but the people who run this place? They took us when we were four. They did this to us." He gestured at himself, at all of them. "They're not gonna just let us walk out."
Izuku looked at each of them, then nodded slowly. "You're right. We're not ready. Not yet."
"Not yet?" Daiki's reptilian eyes narrowed. "What are you thinking?"
"Give it a few more years," Izuku said, his voice calm but determined. "We keep training. Keep getting stronger, faster, smarter. We learn everything our... our teachers can show us." The word 'teachers' came out awkward they still didn't know what to call the animals that had raised them. "And then, when we're ready when we're strong enough that nothing can stop us that's when we escape."
"A few more years?" Kaito looked uncertain. "Man, I don't know if I can wait that long. I want out now."
"I know," Izuku said. "Trust me, I know. But rushing it means we might fail. And if we fail..." He didn't need to finish the sentence. They all knew what failure would mean.
"He's right," Daiki said, surprising them. "We've waited five years. We can wait a few more if it means we actually make it out alive."
"But how do you know there even is a way out?" Yuki asked. "For all we know, this jungle goes on forever."
Izuku's expression shifted, a small, predatory smile crossing his face. "Because I've heard it."
Everyone stared at him.
"Heard what?" Hana asked.
"Cars," Izuku said. "Every now and again, when me and the tiger are near our territory's edge, I hear a car driving. It's faint, but my ears pick it up. Engines. Tires on pavement. Human sounds."
Kaito's eyes widened. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious. I got curious one day—maybe a year ago so I tracked it. Followed the sound without the tiger noticing." Izuku's tail swished behind him. "I found where the cars enter and leave the jungle. There's a road, hidden by the trees, and a big metal gate. That's how they get in and out."
"Where?" Daiki demanded, his voice sharp with interest. "Where is it?"
Izuku pointed west, toward the direction they'd come from. "Past where we all met five years ago. The clearing where they separated us? If I have to guess, from where we are right now, it's very far west. Maybe a few days' travel."
"A few days?" Yuki breathed. "We were that close to freedom this whole time?"
"The jungle's big," Izuku said. "And they probably planned it that way. Keep us deep enough that we wouldn't accidentally find it, but close enough they could manage the facility." He looked at each of them. "But I remember the way. I tracked it once; I can track it again. When we're ready, finding the exit won't be hard."
Silence fell over the group as they processed this information.
"So we train," Kaito said slowly. "We get stronger. And in a few years, we follow you to this gate and we bust out."
"Exactly," Izuku confirmed.
"And then we make them pay," Daiki added, his clawed hand clenching into a fist.
"Together," Hana said softly, her compound eyes reflecting all of them at once. "We do it together."
Yuki spread her wings slightly, as if testing their strength. "How long? How many years are we talking?"
Izuku thought about it, calculating in his head. "Three years. Maybe four. By then I'll be twelve or thirteen. Kaito will be thirteen or fourteen. Daiki will be fifteen or sixteen." He looked at each of them. "Old enough to fight if we have to. Strong enough to survive whatever's out there."
"That's a long time," Kaito said, but his voice wasn't arguing it was accepting.
"It is," Izuku agreed. "But we've already waited five years. We can wait a few more. And in the meantime..." He gestured to the jungle around them. "We keep getting stronger. We learn everything we can. And we stay in contact."
"Stay in contact?" Yuki tilted her head. "How?"
"This spot," Izuku said, gesturing to the clearing around them. "We meet here. Every full moon, if we can. Share what we've learned. Make sure we're all still alive. Still remember the plan."
"I like it," Daiki said, nodding approvingly. "Gives us something to look forward to. A reminder that we're not alone."
"Exactly," Izuku said. "We survived five years apart. We can survive a few more knowing we'll see each other regularly."
The five of them looked at each other no longer just survivors, but a pack. A team. A family forged in the cruelest circumstances imaginable.
"Alright," Kaito said, extending his furred hand into the center of their circle. "Three or four more years. We train, we get stronger, and then we get the hell out of here."
Yuki placed her taloned hand over his. "Together."
Daiki added his scaled claw. "No matter what."
Hana's thin but powerful hand joined the pile. "We promised once. We'll promise again."
Izuku placed his hand on top, completing the circle. "In three or four years, we escape. And then we take back our lives."
"And make them pay," they all said in unison.
The pact was made.
The plan was set.
All they had to do now was survive long enough to see it through.
5 years later...
Izuku Midoriya stood at the edge of the waterfall, watching the sunset paint the jungle in shades of gold and crimson.
At fourteen years old, he barely resembled the terrified four-year-old who'd been carried into this nightmare. He'd grown to five feet seven inches, his body lean and powerful with the kind of muscle definition that came from a lifetime of hunting and survival. His green hair, now wild and reaching past his shoulder blades, was tied back in a messy ponytail with vine cord. Scars crisscrossed his bare torso a roadmap of ten years in the jungle.
His feline features had fully matured. The whiskers on his cheeks were longer, more prominent. His canines were sharp enough to tear through hide. His claws, fully retractable now, could extend to nearly two inches and were harder than steel. His green tail, thick and powerful, had perfect control a true extension of his body. His eyes, with their sharp slit pupils, could see in near-total darkness and track movement from hundreds of feet away.
He was fast faster than anything in the jungle except maybe the tiger itself. He could run at speeds that blurred his movement, could leap thirty feet from a standstill, could climb a hundred-foot tree in seconds. His enhanced senses made him aware of everything within a quarter-mile radius.
The tiger had trained him well. Too well, perhaps.
The massive cat lay behind him in the cave, watching with those knowing amber eyes. It had grown older too grayer around the muzzle, slower in its movements. But still powerful. Still his teacher. Still, in a way Izuku couldn't quite explain, his family.
"Tomorrow's the day," Izuku said quietly, not turning around. He'd gotten into the habit of talking to the tiger over the years, even knowing it would never respond with words. "Ten years we've been together. You've taught me everything. How to hunt. How to fight. How to survive." He paused, his voice catching slightly. "How to live, even when I wanted to die."
The tiger's tail swished once.
Izuku finally turned to face it, his expression conflicted. "I'm leaving. Tomorrow. With the others. We're going home or trying to, anyway." He moved closer, kneeling in front of the massive predator that had been his guardian for a decade. "I know you probably don't understand, but... I need to see my mom again. I need to know if she's okay. If she even remembers me."
The tiger stared at him with those impossibly intelligent eyes.
"I'm scared," Izuku admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Not of leaving. Not of what's out there. I'm scared that... that I'm not human anymore. That I've been a predator for so long, I forgot how to be a boy. That my mom won't recognize me. That she'll be afraid of me."
The tiger stood slowly, its old joints crackling slightly. It padded over to Izuku and did something it hadn't done in years it pressed its massive forehead against Izuku's chest, right over his heart.
Izuku's eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall. "You're not my real parent. But you kept me alive. You kept me me. So... thank you. For everything."
The tiger pulled back and looked at him for a long moment. Then it did something that made Izuku's breath catch.
With deliberate care, the tiger raised one massive paw to its mouth and bit down—not hard enough to damage, but with enough pressure that when it pulled back, a single claw came free. It was nearly three inches long, curved and sharp, marked with the wear of years.
The tiger dropped the claw at Izuku's feet and stepped back.
Izuku picked it up with trembling hands, understanding the weight of this gift. "I... I'll keep it. Always." He looked up at the tiger, tears finally spilling over. "I'll never forget you. Never."
The tiger made that sound not quite a purr, not quite a growl that Izuku had learned meant understanding. Acceptance. And maybe, in its own way, love.
Izuku spent the rest of the evening crafting the claw into a necklace, using tough vine cord to secure it. When he finished, he placed it around his neck, where it rested against his chest a reminder of the decade he'd spent becoming something more than human.
That night, Izuku slept curled against the tiger's warm fur one last time, just like he had when he was four years old and terrified of the dark.
When dawn broke, Izuku stood at the cave entrance, ready to leave. The tiger watched from the shadows, its amber eyes reflecting the morning light.
"Goodbye," Izuku whispered. "And... thank you. For being my family when I had no one else."
The tiger roared—a sound that echoed through the jungle, powerful and final. A farewell from one predator to another.
Izuku turned and ran, moving through the trees with the grace and speed the tiger had taught him, the claw bouncing against his chest with each leap.
He had a meeting to get to.
The clearing looked the same as it had five years ago when they'd first reunited. Izuku arrived first, dropping from the canopy with barely a sound. He'd gotten here early, unable to sleep with anticipation.
He didn't have to wait long.
A figure swung through the trees with impossible speed and agility, covering ground in massive leaps that no human should be capable of. Kaito Saruwatari landed in the clearing with a grin that was all confidence and barely contained energy.
At fifteen years old, Kaito had grown to five feet nine inches of pure muscle. His body was built like a gymnast's powerful shoulders, long arms that were covered in thick brown fur from fingertips to shoulders, and hands that were more prehensile than human. His legs, also furred, could grip branches with his feet. His face had kept its boyish charm, but his amber eyes held a wildness, and his pronounced canines gave him a perpetually mischievous look. His hair was messy and brown, and he wore only tattered pants held up by vine rope.
"Izuku!" Kaito's grin widened. "Man, you ready for this? Ten years we've been waiting!"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Izuku replied, clasping Kaito's furred hand in greeting. "You look strong. The gorilla's been pushing you hard?"
"You have no idea. That old ape made me fight trees, wrestle rocks, and climb cliffs in storms. I'm pretty sure I could punch through steel now." Kaito flexed, showing muscle definition that was frankly intimidating. "But yeah, I'm ready. More than ready. I want to see the sun without trees in the way."
A shadow passed overhead, and they both looked up.
Yuki Takami descended in a graceful spiral, her wings spread wide. At fourteen years old, she'd grown to five feet five inches, her frame built light and aerodynamic for flight. Her wings now a full eight-foot wingspan were covered in silver-gray feathers that shimmered in the light. Her arms had fully transformed into wing structure, though her hands remained functional with long, curved talons. Her silver hair fell to her mid-back, with actual feathers growing from her scalp and woven throughout. Her face was sharp and beautiful, with those large golden eyes that could spot prey from hundreds of feet in the air. Her legs ended in powerful taloned feet that could crush bone. She wore a makeshift outfit of leather and cloth that allowed her wings freedom of movement.
She landed with barely a sound, folding her wings against her back. "Kaito. Izuku." Her voice had taken on an almost melodic quality, like wind chimes. "Today's the day."
"Finally," a deep voice rumbled from the underbrush.
Daiki Ryuzaki emerged from the foliage, and even though they'd seen him every month for five years, his presence was still imposing.
At seventeen years old, Daiki stood six feet two inches tall and was built like a tank. His entire body was covered in thick, overlapping scales that had darkened to a deep olive-green with black accents. They formed natural armor across his chest, back, shoulders, and arms virtually impenetrable. His face maintained human structure, but his eyes were fully reptilian with vertical slits in yellow-gold irises. His hands and feet ended in thick, curved claws designed for tearing. When he opened his mouth, his fangs were visible loaded with venom potent enough to drop large prey in seconds. His dark hair was cut short, practical. He wore only pants made from tanned hide shirts didn't work with his scaled physique.
"About damn time," Daiki said, his voice carrying that characteristic hiss. "I've been ready to leave this place for years."
"We all have," a soft voice said from above.
They looked up to see Hana Mushi descending on a strand of silk so thin it was nearly invisible, yet strong enough to hold her weight easily.
At thirteen years old, Hana had grown to five feet even still the smallest of the group but what she lacked in size she made up for in sheer terrifying capability. Her body was deceptively thin, but packed with muscle density that defied physics she was stronger pound-for-pound than any of them. Her compound eyes had fully matured, giving her nearly 360-degree vision with the ability to see in multiple spectrums. Her dark hair was long and practical, often with spiders woven through it. Her fingers could produce silk from spinnerets that had developed in her wrists, and she could climb any surface with ease. Her skin had taken on a slight sheen, tougher than normal human skin. She wore a practical outfit of woven silk and leather that she'd made herself, and dozens of spiders of various sizes crawled over her shoulders and through her hair like living accessories.
She touched down lightly, her spiders spreading out to create a perimeter. "Everyone's here. That's good." Her compound eyes scanned each of them. "We're really doing this."
"Hell yes we are," Kaito said, practically vibrating with excitement. "Ten years in this jungle. Ten years of training. Ten years of waiting. Today we go home."
Izuku looked at each of them his pack, his family, his fellow survivors. They'd all changed so much from the terrified children they'd been. They were predators now. Dangerous. Powerful.
But they were also still them. Still the kids who'd promised to see each other again. Still the friends who'd kept each other alive through sheer determination.
"Everyone say goodbye to their teachers?" Izuku asked quietly.
Yuki nodded, her expression sad. "The eagle... it understood. I think. It flew with me one last time this morning, then returned to its nest. It didn't follow."
"The gorilla punched me in the chest," Kaito said with a watery laugh. "Like, hard enough to knock me back ten feet. Then it beat its chest and walked away. I think that was its way of saying 'you're strong enough now.'"
"The crocodile just stared at me," Daiki said, his voice unusually soft. "For like an hour. Then it slipped into the water and disappeared. Didn't even look back."
"The spiders wove a message in silk," Hana said quietly. "'Survive. Adapt. Evolve.' Then they scattered into the jungle. Some stayed with me." She gestured to the arachnids on her shoulders. "But most left."
Izuku touched the claw necklace at his chest. "The tiger gave me this. Its claw. I think... I think it was saying goodbye. And good luck."
For a moment, they all stood in silence, honoring the creatures that had raised them, trained them, kept them alive when they should have died.
Then Daiki straightened, his scaled body catching the light. "Alright. Enough sentiment. We've got a jungle to escape and people to find. Izuku you know the way?"
Izuku nodded, his enhanced senses already tracking the faint scent of exhaust fumes and oil from the west. "Follow me. Stay quiet. Stay alert. We don't know if there are guards or cameras near the exit."
"And if there are?" Kaito asked, cracking his knuckles a sound like wood breaking.
Izuku's expression hardened, his cat eyes flashing with something predatory. "Then we show them what ten years in hell created."
The five of them moved as one, leaving the clearing behind. They traveled through the jungle with the efficiency of apex predators Izuku leading on the ground with his speed and senses, Kaito swinging through the mid-canopy, Yuki scouting from above, Daiki covering the rear with his armored presence, and Hana creating silk markers and using her spiders to watch their flanks.
They moved for hours, covering ground at a pace that would have been impossible for normal humans. The jungle began to change subtly the trees less wild, the undergrowth more managed, signs of human interference becoming more apparent.
Finally, Izuku held up a hand, signaling everyone to stop.
Through the trees ahead, they could see it a massive chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond that, a paved road. And in the distance, the metallic glint of a security gate.
The edge of their prison.
The beginning of their freedom.
"There," Izuku whispered, pointing. "That's the way out."
Kaito's grin was fierce. "Then let's go home."
They crouched in the underbrush, studying the barrier between them and freedom.
The chain-link fence stretched at least twenty feet high, topped with multiple coils of razor wire. Every fifty feet, there were poles with cameras mounted on them, slowly rotating to scan the perimeter. Floodlights dotted the fence line, though they weren't on during the day. Beyond the fence, a service road stretched in both directions, and about two hundred yards to their right was the gate a heavy metal structure with a guard booth beside it.
"Well," Kaito said quietly, his amber eyes tracking the camera movements. "That's not exactly welcoming."
"Cameras, motion sensors probably, definitely alarms," Daiki observed, his reptilian eyes picking out details the others might miss. "They don't want anyone getting in. Or out."
"Can you see guards?" Izuku asked Yuki.
She'd been watching from a tree branch above, her enhanced eagle vision scanning the area. "Two in the guard booth. Both armed. I can see... something else. Inside the booth. Looks like monitors. They're watching the feeds."
"So if we just climb over, they'll see us immediately," Hana said, her compound eyes analyzing the fence structure. "And then what? They sound an alarm, send people after us?"
"Or worse," Daiki added darkly. "Tranquilizers. Capture. Back to the cages."
Izuku's tail lashed behind him, his mind racing through possibilities. Ten years of training, of learning to hunt and stalk and read his environment, had to count for something.
"The cameras move in patterns," he said, watching them rotate. "Sweep left, sweep right, pause, repeat. There are blind spots."
"For maybe three seconds," Kaito pointed out. "And that fence is twenty feet high with razor wire on top."
"I can fly over," Yuki said. "Easily. But the rest of you..."
"The razor wire's the problem," Hana mused, her fingers unconsciously producing a thin strand of silk. She paused, looking at the silk, then at the fence. "Wait. I have an idea."
Everyone turned to look at her.
"My silk is stronger than steel cable," Hana said, her mind clearly working through the problem. "I could create a line over the fence, above the cameras' sight line. We could use it to cross over the razor wire without touching it."
"That could work," Daiki said slowly. "But how do you get the silk over there in the first place?"
Hana smiled a rare expression that made her compound eyes glitter. "I don't. Yuki does."
Understanding dawned on Yuki's face. "You tie the silk to me, I fly over carrying it, secure it on the other side."
"Exactly. Then the rest of you climb across. I can produce enough silk to make it thick enough to hold even Daiki's weight."
"What about the cameras?" Kaito asked. "Even if we're above them, won't they catch us moving?"
"Not if we time it right," Izuku said, his predator instincts piecing together a plan. "We watch the pattern. Wait for the cameras to rotate away. Cross during the blind spot."
"We'd have to be fast," Daiki said. "Really fast."
"Good thing we've been training for ten years then," Kaito grinned, though there was tension in his voice.
Izuku looked at each of them. "Everyone okay with this? Once we go, there's no turning back. They'll know we escaped."
"I've been ready to leave for ten years," Daiki said firmly.
"Same," Yuki added, spreading her wings slightly.
"Let's do this," Kaito said, cracking his neck.
"I'll start preparing the silk," Hana said, her wrists already beginning to produce the strong, thin strands.
They spent the next twenty minutes observing the camera patterns, confirming the timing. Hana worked quickly, producing silk and weaving it into a thick, strong line—thin enough to be barely visible at a distance, but strong enough to hold their combined weight several times over.
Finally, everything was ready.
"Yuki, you're up," Izuku said quietly. "Get over there, secure the line to that tree." He pointed to a sturdy tree about thirty feet beyond the fence, well out of camera range.
Yuki took the end of Hana's silk line and wrapped it carefully around her wrist. She looked back at them once, her golden eyes reflecting both fear and determination.
"See you on the other side," she said.
Then she spread her wings and launched herself into the air.
She flew low at first, using the trees as cover, then arced up and over the fence in a graceful curve. The cameras were rotating away they'd timed it perfectly. Within seconds, she'd landed on the far side, moving quickly to the designated tree and securing the silk line around a thick branch.
She gave them a thumbs up.
"Phase one complete," Hana whispered. She pulled the silk line taut and secured her end to a tree on their side. "Who's first?"
"I'll go," Daiki said. "I'm heaviest. If it holds me, it'll hold anyone."
He moved to the silk line, his clawed hands gripping it carefully. Despite his bulk, years of training had made him surprisingly agile. He waited for the cameras to rotate away—three... two... one... now.
Daiki pulled himself up onto the silk line and moved across hand over hand, his powerful arms making quick work of the distance. He cleared the fence, dropped to the ground on the other side, and rolled into cover behind a tree.
Made it.
"Kaito, you're next," Izuku said.
Kaito waited for the camera rotation, then practically flew across the line, his ape-like agility making it look easy. He swung hand over hand like he'd been born doing it, dropping beside Daiki in seconds.
"Hana?"
The smallest of them stepped up to the line. Despite her size, her impossible muscle density made her stronger than she looked. She waited for the timing, then crossed—but halfway across, one of the cameras began rotating back early.
"Hana, move!" Izuku hissed urgently.
She accelerated, her arms blurring with speed, and dropped to the ground just as the camera swung past where she'd been. Close. Too close.
Now it was just Izuku.
He gripped the silk line, feeling the tiger's claw bounce against his chest. Ten years. Ten years of survival, of training, of becoming something more than human. It all came down to this moment.
The cameras rotated away.
Izuku pulled himself onto the line and moved. His enhanced feline reflexes made him fast faster than the others. His claws gripped the silk perfectly, his tail providing balance. He was across in seconds, dropping into a crouch beside his friends.
They'd done it.
They'd cleared the fence.
"Phase two," Hana whispered, producing more silk. "I'll retrieve my line. We can't leave evidence."
She worked quickly, her silk responding to her touch, winding back toward her like a living thing. Within moments, the line was gone, leaving no trace they'd been there.
"Now what?" Kaito asked, his voice barely audible. "We're outside the fence, but we're still on their property. That guard booth is right there."
Izuku's enhanced hearing picked up voices from the booth casual conversation, something about a sports game. The guards weren't on alert. They had no idea five apex predators were less than two hundred yards away.
"We could go around," Yuki suggested. "Circle wide, avoid the gate entirely."
"No," Daiki said, his eyes fixed on the guard booth. "They need to know we're gone. They need to know they failed."
"Daiki— " Yuki started.
"He's right," Izuku interrupted, something fierce burning in his chest. "They took us when we were four years old. They did this to us." He gestured to himself, to all of them. "They made us into weapons. Into monsters. They should know that their monsters are free."
"So what?" Kaito asked. "We just... walk up to the gate?"
Izuku's expression hardened, his slit pupils narrowing. "No. We run past it. Fast enough they barely see us. Just a glimpse enough to know something got out, but not enough to stop us."
"That's insane," Yuki said. But she was smiling slightly. "I love it."
"On my mark," Izuku said, his body coiling. "We run straight down the road, past the gate, and into the forest on the other side. Don't stop. Don't look back. Just run."
They positioned themselves, five predators ready to sprint.
"Ready?" Izuku asked.
Four nods.
"Three... two... one... GO!"
They exploded from cover like bullets from a gun.
Izuku led the charge, his feline speed carrying him forward in a blur of green and black. Kaito was right beside him, his long arms pumping as he ran with the loping gait of an ape. Daiki's heavier frame crashed through underbrush, his scales glinting in the sunlight. Yuki took to the air, her wings carrying her above them. Hana ran with impossible speed despite her size, spiders streaming from her like a living cape.
They passed the guard booth in seconds.
Inside, one guard dropped his coffee.
"What the"
"Did you see"
"SOUND THE ALARM!"
But they were already past, already plunging into the forest on the far side of the facility, their enhanced speed carrying them faster than any vehicle could follow on these roads.
Behind them, sirens began to wail. Shouts echoed. Engines started.
But the five of them ran deeper into the woods, putting distance between themselves and their prison with every second.
They ran for hours. Through forests, across streams, over hills. They ran until the sirens faded completely, until their enhanced senses detected no pursuit, until they finally emerged onto a road a real road, with painted lines and signs and evidence of civilization.
They stumbled to a stop, panting, staring at the asphalt beneath their feet.
"We did it," Kaito breathed, his voice filled with wonder. "We actually did it."
"We're out," Yuki said, landing beside them. "We're really out."
Daiki dropped to one knee, touching the road with a scaled hand like he couldn't believe it was real. "Ten years. Ten years and we're finally free."
Hana's spiders scattered around them in a protective perimeter while she caught her breath. "Now what?"
Izuku looked down the road one direction led deeper into wilderness, the other toward what looked like distant lights. Civilization. Cities. People.
Home.
"Now," Izuku said, touching the tiger's claw at his chest, "we find our families. We reclaim our lives. And we make sure no one else ever goes through what we did."
The first town they encountered was small barely more than a truck stop and a few buildings. They'd watched it from the tree line for over an hour, trying to work up the courage to approach.
"We can't go in looking like this," Yuki said, gesturing to herself to all of them. Their tattered clothes, their obvious animal features, their wild appearance. "People will freak out."
"We need information though," Daiki said. "We don't even know where we are. Could be hundreds of miles from home."
Izuku's enhanced hearing picked up a conversation from the truck stop two drivers talking about routes. "They mentioned Musutafu," he said quietly. "Said it's about 200 kilometers south of here."
"Musutafu," Kaito breathed. "That's... that's where I'm from. Where most of us are from, right?"
They'd discovered over the years during their monthly meetings that they'd all been taken from the same general area the Musutafu region. It made sense; the facility would want to keep their "subjects" relatively local for logistics.
"So we go south," Hana said simply. "Two hundred kilometers. We can cover that in... what, two days if we push hard?"
"Less if we travel at night," Daiki added. "Fewer people to see us."
And so they traveled through the wilderness that bordered the highways, staying out of sight, covering ground at a pace that would have been impossible for normal humans. They hunted for food the way they'd been taught, slept in trees or caves, and slowly made their way toward the city that had once been home.
It took them three days, moving carefully to avoid detection. But finally, as the sun set on the third day, they crested a hill and saw it.
Musutafu.
The city sprawled below them, lights beginning to twinkle on as evening fell. Buildings stretched toward the sky—so much taller than Izuku remembered. Cars moved along streets in organized patterns. The sounds of civilization traffic, voices, music drifted up to them.
It looked like a different world. Because for them, it was.
"I can't believe it's real," Kaito whispered, his eyes wide. "I thought... I thought I'd never see a city again."
"Ten years," Yuki said softly, her wings folding against her back. "We were gone for ten years. Everything probably changed."
"Do you think..." Hana's voice was small, uncertain. "Do you think our families are still there? Still waiting?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with fear and hope.
"Only one way to find out," Izuku said, though his own heart was pounding. What if his mom had moved? What if she'd given up hope? What if she didn't want the monster her son had become?
They made their way down to the city's outskirts as darkness fell, using shadows and back alleys to stay hidden. The deeper into the city they went, the stranger everything felt too many people, too many sounds, too many smells. Their enhanced senses were overwhelmed by the assault of civilization.
They found shelter in an abandoned building on the edge of the city an old warehouse that looked like it hadn't been used in years. As they settled in, the reality of their situation began to sink in.
"We should split up," Daiki said, though his voice was reluctant. "If we all show up together, looking like this... it'll cause panic. Questions. Maybe authorities."
"He's right," Yuki agreed quietly. "We need to go to our families individually. Try to... explain. Figure out what happens next."
"But we stay in contact," Kaito said firmly. "After everything we've been through? We don't lose each other now."
Izuku pulled out a piece of charcoal from their fire and found a flat piece of concrete. "Phone numbers. Our old home numbers. If they haven't changed, we can reach each other."
One by one, they wrote down the numbers they still remembered from ten years ago digits burned into childhood memories. Kaito's home. Yuki's apartment. Daiki's house. Hana's family number. And Izuku's apartment.
"What if the numbers don't work?" Hana asked, voicing what they were all thinking.
"Then we meet back here," Izuku said. "One week from today. Same time. If anyone can't reach their family, if anyone needs help—we meet here and figure it out together."
"One week," Daiki repeated, memorizing the location. "No matter what."
They spent that night in the warehouse, huddled together one last time—five predators who'd become family in the worst possible way. In the morning, they'd separate. They'd face the world alone for the first time in years.
But for now, they had each other.
When dawn broke, they stood in the center of the warehouse, facing each other.
"This isn't goodbye," Kaito said, his usual grin forced but present. "This is 'see you later.'"
"We survived the jungle," Yuki added. "We can survive this too."
"Stay safe," Hana said softly. "All of you."
"Don't do anything stupid," Daiki warned, but there was warmth in his reptilian eyes.
Izuku looked at each of them his pack, his family. "Whatever happens, whatever we find... we're not alone. We have each other. Always."
They clasped hands in the center, forming their circle one last time.
"See you in a week," they said in unison.
Then, one by one, they left the warehouse. Yuki took to the air, disappearing into the early morning sky. Daiki slipped into the sewers, his reptilian nature making him comfortable in the dark tunnels. Kaito scaled a building and swung away through the city's rooftops. Hana released her spiders to scout ahead, then melted into the shadows.
And Izuku stood alone for the first time in years, feeling more scared than he had facing any predator in the jungle.
He knew the way home his body remembered the route even if his mind had tried to forget. Through back streets and alleys, staying out of sight, using his enhanced senses to avoid people. The city was waking up around him, but he remained a ghost, a shadow, something that didn't belong in this world of concrete and cars.
Finally, after an hour of careful navigation, he found himself standing across the street from a familiar apartment building.
His heart nearly stopped.
It was the same. The same building where he'd lived until he was four. Where his mom had made him breakfast. Where he'd played with his All Might toys. Where he'd waited for his Quirk to manifest.
The building was older, more worn, but still standing. Still home.
Izuku's hands trembled as he approached. His enhanced hearing picked up sounds from inside morning routines, families getting ready for the day. He found his old apartment number on the directory.
Midoriya. 304.
She was still here. His mom was still here.
Izuku climbed the stairs on shaking legs, his tail wrapped anxiously around his waist, trying to make himself look as human as possible. His long hair hung over his face. His claws were retracted. He'd found an oversized hoodie in a dumpster to cover his scarred torso.
He stood in front of door 304 for a full five minutes, unable to make himself knock.
What if she didn't recognize him? What if she was scared? What if she'd moved on, remarried, had other children? What if
The door opened.
Inko Midoriya stood there in her bathrobe, her green hair messy from sleep. She'd come out to get the morning paper. She was older ten years older with more lines around her eyes, more gray in her hair.
But she was still his mom.
She looked at him really looked at him. At his height, his wild appearance, his cat-like features. Her eyes widened. Her hand came up to her mouth.
And Izuku realized she didn't recognize him.
"I'm sorry," Izuku stammered, his voice rough from disuse around humans. "I didn't mean to I should go"
"Izuku?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
Izuku froze. "You... you remember me?"
Inko's eyes filled with tears. Her hand was shaking as she reached out, touching his face his whiskers, his too-sharp cheekbones, his frightened eyes.
"My baby," she breathed. "My baby boy. You came home."
And then she pulled him into her arms, sobbing, holding him like she'd never let go again.
Izuku's legs gave out. He collapsed into his mother's embrace, and for the first time in ten years, he felt safe. He felt human.
He felt like he was home.
"Mom," he choked out, his own tears finally falling. "Mom, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried to come back. I tried"
"Shh, shh, baby, it's okay." Inko pulled him inside, closing the door behind them. "You're home now. You're safe. You're home."
Izuku looked around the apartment. It was exactly as he remembered his All Might posters still on the wall, his toys in the corner, like she'd kept his room exactly as he'd left it. Like she'd been waiting for him to come back.
"You waited for me," Izuku whispered.
"Every single day," Inko said, cupping his face in her hands, studying every change, every scar, every animal feature that marked him as different. "Every single day for ten years, I waited for you to come home. And you did. You came back to me."
"I'm not" Izuku's voice cracked. "I'm not the same. They did things to me, Mom. Changed me. I'm not your little boy anymore"
"You are," Inko said fiercely, pulling him close again. "You are my son. You will always be my son. I don't care what they did. I don't care what you look like. You're my Izuku. My baby. And you're home."
Izuku buried his face in his mother's shoulder and cried ten years of fear and pain and loneliness pouring out of him. And Inko held him, rocking him gently, whispering comfort like she had when he was small.
After several minutes of holding each other and crying, Inko finally pulled back, her hands still on Izuku's shoulders. Her eyes were red and puffy, but there was a fierce determination in them now.
"Come in properly," she said, guiding him fully into the apartment and closing the door. "Let me see you. Really see you."
Izuku stood in the center of the living room a space that felt impossibly small after ten years in an endless jungle. The ceiling was too close. The walls too near. But it was home.
Inko stepped back, and for the first time, really looked at her son.
He was so tall now nearly five foot seven at only fourteen. His body was lean and muscular in a way that shouldn't be possible for his age, covered in scars that told stories she could only imagine. His green hair hung wild and untamed past his shoulders. The hoodie he'd found hung loose on his frame, and his feet were bare and calloused like he'd never worn shoes.
But it was his face that made her breath catch. The whiskers. The sharp canines visible when he breathed. And his eyes still green like hers, but the pupils were vertical slits, like a cat's.
"Izuku," she whispered. "What... what did they do to you?"
Izuku's tail which he'd been trying to hide unwrapped from his waist and swished nervously behind him. Inko's hand flew to her mouth.
"You have a tail," she said, her voice shaking.
"Yeah," Izuku said quietly. He held up his hands and let his claws extend two inches of curved, razor-sharp natural weapons. "And these. And" He opened his mouth wider, showing the elongated fangs. "These too."
Inko reached out slowly, carefully, and touched one of his whiskers. It twitched at her touch. "Tell me," she said softly but firmly. "Tell me everything. What did they do to my baby?"
Izuku's throat tightened. He'd thought about this moment for years, but now that it was here, the words were hard to find.
"They took us to a place called Facility 13," he began, his voice rough. "There were lots of kids. All of us had been taken because we didn't manifest Quirks on time. They said we were being 'evaluated,' but that was a lie."
Inko sat down heavily on the couch, never taking her eyes off him.
"They injected us with something," Izuku continued, wrapping his arms around himself. "Some kind of experimental serum. They called it Quirk-DNA Fusion. They mixed animal DNA into us, trying to force us to develop abilities." He looked down at his clawed hands. "They gave me four different types of big cats. Jaguar, lion, tiger, and cheetah. I wasn't supposed to survive a lot of kids didn't. But I did."
"Oh god," Inko whispered, tears streaming down her face again. "Oh god, Izuku..."
"After the injections, they put us in this huge artificial jungle," Izuku said, his voice distant as he remembered. "The Primal Jungle, they called it. They separated us me and four other kids I'd met. Each of us was given to an animal. A real animal. Mine was a tiger."
"A tiger?" Inko's voice was faint. "You were four years old and they gave you to a tiger?"
"The tiger was supposed to teach me. Train me. Make me into" He struggled with the word. "Into a predator. Into a weapon. That's what they wanted. Living weapons."
"For ten years?" Inko asked, horrified. "You lived in a jungle with a tiger for ten years?"
Izuku nodded. "The tiger taught me everything. How to hunt. How to fight. How to survive. I learned to move like it, think like it. I" His voice cracked. "I killed things, Mom. Animals. I had to, or I'd starve. I ate raw meat because there was nothing else. I lived in a cave. I forgot what it was like to wear clothes or sleep in a bed or hear human voices."
He touched the claw necklace at his chest. "When I left, the tiger gave me this. One of its claws. I think... I think it was saying goodbye. That I was ready."
Inko stood up and pulled him into another fierce hug. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you. I tried I fought them when they took you, but they were too strong. And then they told me you were dead. Six months after they took you, they said there'd been an accident. That you were gone."
"They lied," Izuku said, his arms wrapping around his mother. "They wanted you to stop looking."
"I never stopped," Inko said fiercely. "I never believed them. I kept your room exactly the same. I waited. Every day I waited for you to come home."
They held each other for a long moment, then Inko pulled back, wiping her eyes. "You must be starving," she said, her motherly instincts kicking in despite everything. "Traveling all that way on foot. Let me make you something. Anything you want."
"I" Izuku started, but his stomach growled loudly, betraying him. He hadn't had a proper meal in days.
"Sit," Inko said, pointing to the couch. "I'll make your favorite. Katsudon. Just like I promised for your fourth birthday."
She went to the kitchen and started pulling out ingredients. Izuku sat on the couch awkwardly, feeling too large for the space, too wild for these domestic surroundings. But watching his mom move around the kitchen something so normal, so human made his chest ache with emotion.
Inko began preparing the chicken, cutting it into pieces on the cutting board. The sound of the knife, the smell of raw meat it made Izuku's predator instincts stir.
"Mom, you don't have to cook," Izuku said suddenly, standing up.
"Of course I do, sweetie, you need Izuku!"
But Izuku had already moved to the counter with that liquid feline grace. Before Inko could react, he'd picked up a piece of raw chicken from the cutting board and bitten into it.
"Izuku, that's not"
"Ooo, that hits the spot," Izuku said, his eyes closing in satisfaction. He grabbed another piece, then another, eating the raw chicken with the efficiency of a predator. Within seconds, he'd consumed what Inko had been planning to cook.
Inko stared at him, her hand over her mouth.
Izuku froze, the reality of what he'd just done hitting him. "I I'm sorry, I didn't mean to I just the smell of the meat, I couldn't" He looked horrified. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm not normal anymore."
Inko took a shaky breath, then moved forward and cupped his face. "You're my son," she said firmly. "Normal or not, you're my son. If you need to eat meat raw, then that's what we'll do. I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out together."
"You're not scared of me?" Izuku asked, his voice small.
"Scared of you? Izuku, you're my baby. You could have ten tails and breathe fire, and you'd still be my baby." She wiped a tear from his cheek. "But we do need to work on your table manners."
Despite everything, Izuku laughed a sound he hadn't made in front of another human in ten years.
"Now," Inko said, wrinkling her nose slightly. "I love you, but sweetie... you smell like a zoo. When's the last time you bathed?"
Izuku sniffed himself and winced. "Three days ago. In a stream."
"Bathroom. Now. There are towels under the sink. I'll find you some clean clothes." Inko paused. "Your old clothes won't fit. You're too tall now. But I kept some of your father's things from before we split. They might work."
"Dad's clothes?" Izuku asked quietly. He barely remembered his father the man had left when Izuku was three.
"He left them when he moved out. I was going to donate them, but..." Inko shrugged. "I never got around to it. Maybe it was meant to be."
Izuku went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It was small everything in the apartment felt small now but it was clean and human and so completely different from anything he'd experienced in a decade.
He turned on the shower, and when hot water actually came out, he almost cried. The feeling of hot water falling over him washing dirt and blood and ten years of surviving was overwhelming. He stood under the spray for a long time, watching the water turn brown as it washed away the jungle.
When he finally got out, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
A stranger stared back.
He was tall and lean, his body covered in scars and muscle. His wet hair hung past his shoulders in tangled green waves. His whiskers dripped water. His ears, though human, seemed larger and more pointed than they should be. And his eyes those cat-like slit pupils in his mother's green irises looked back at him with an intensity that was more animal than human.
He touched his reflection, tracing the changes. This was who he was now. Not quite human. Not quite animal. Something in between.
There was a knock at the door. "Izuku? I left clothes outside. They should fit."
"Thanks, Mom."
The clothes were simple a black t-shirt and jeans that were slightly too big but close enough. His father must have been a larger man. Izuku rolled up the sleeves and cuffs, making them work. It felt strange wearing real clothes again. Restrictive. But also somehow protective.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Inko was waiting in the living room. She looked him over, her eyes soft.
"You look more like yourself," she said. "Still different, but... more like my Izuku."
"I don't know if I remember how to be that Izuku," he admitted quietly.
Inko walked over to his bedroom door and opened it. "Do you remember what your dream was?"
Izuku looked at her, confused. "My dream?"
She gestured inside. Izuku stepped forward and saw it his room, preserved exactly as he'd left it ten years ago. All Might posters covered the walls. Action figures lined the shelves. His All Might bedspread. His calendar with the circled date. Everything frozen in time.
"You always said you wanted to be a hero," Inko said softly, coming to stand beside him. "Every day, you'd tell me about how you were going to be just like All Might. How you'd save people with a smile. How you'd be the greatest hero ever."
Izuku stared at the room at the dreams of a four-year-old boy who'd never gotten his Quirk, who'd been taken before those dreams could die naturally.
"I'm not" he started. "I'm not hero material, Mom. I'm a weapon. A predator. Heroes save people. I just... I survive."
"Izuku Midoriya," Inko said firmly, turning him to face her. "Look at me."
He did, his cat eyes meeting her human ones.
"You survived ten years in hell," she said. "You were changed into something you never asked to be. You were torn from your family and thrown into the wild. And you didn't just survive you kept your humanity. You came home. You remembered who you were."
She touched the All Might poster on his wall. "You always wanted to be a hero. And now, Izuku... I think you can be. You're stronger than any Quirk could have made you. You're faster, more capable than almost anyone. But more than that" She touched his chest, right over his heart. "You're still my kind, brave boy who wants to save people."
"But I've killed things," Izuku whispered. "I've hunted. I've"
"You survived," Inko interrupted. "That's not evil. That's not wrong. You did what you had to do to live. But now you're home. Now you get to choose who you want to be. And if you still want to be a hero" She smiled through her tears. "Then I believe you can be the greatest hero of all."
Izuku looked at his old All Might action figure on the shelf. At the posters of the Symbol of Peace smiling down at him. At the dreams of a child who'd never gotten the chance to chase them.
"I don't know if I can," he said honestly.
"Then we'll figure it out together," Inko said, pulling him into another hug. "One day at a time. But first, you rest. You eat. You heal. And you remember that you're not alone anymore. You're home."
They spent the rest of the day simply being together.
Inko made tea real tea, in actual cups and they sat on the couch while she told him everything he'd missed. How she'd fought the government for answers. How she'd joined support groups for parents of missing children. How she'd never stopped believing he was alive, even when everyone told her to move on.
Izuku told her about the jungle, though he kept the worst parts vague. He told her about Kaito, Yuki, Daiki, and Hana the friends who'd kept him sane, who'd reminded him he was still human. He told her about the monthly meetings, about their promise to escape together, about how they'd become a family in the worst possible way.
"I'd like to meet them someday," Inko said softly. "The children who kept my son alive."
"They kept each other alive," Izuku corrected. "We all did."
Inko showed him how much the world had changed in ten years. New heroes had risen. Technology had advanced. The city had grown. She pulled out her phone a device that seemed impossibly thin and advanced compared to what Izuku remembered and showed him videos, news articles, everything he'd missed.
Izuku's enhanced vision made it easy to see the screen, but the concepts were overwhelming. So much had happened. The world had moved on without him.
For lunch, Inko ordered sushi raw fish, which Izuku devoured with obvious enjoyment. She laughed, though there were tears in her eyes, watching her son eat with his hands, his fangs tearing into the food with predatory efficiency.
"We'll work on silverware later," she said gently.
In the afternoon, Inko insisted on brushing his hair all that wild, tangled length. Izuku sat still while she worked through the knots with patient care, humming softly like she used to when he was small. It was such a simple thing, such a human thing, but it made Izuku's chest ache with emotion.
"You could cut it," Inko suggested. "If you want."
Izuku thought about it, then shook his head. "I think... I think I want to keep it. It feels like part of who I am now. Who I became."
"Then we'll keep it," Inko said simply. "Maybe put it in a ponytail so it's out of your face?"
She found a hair tie and pulled his green hair back, securing it at the base of his neck. When she showed him the mirror, Izuku saw someone who looked a little more put-together. Still wild, still clearly changed, but more... human.
They talked about small things. Normal things. Inko's job at an office. The neighbors who'd moved in and out. TV shows Izuku had never seen. It was mundane and ordinary and exactly what Izuku needed.
As the sun began to set, painting the apartment in golden light, Izuku was curled up on the couch with his head in his mother's lap while she ran her fingers through his hair. His tail was wrapped loosely around his legs, and for the first time in ten years, he felt completely safe.
Then something occurred to him, and he sat up suddenly.
"Mom, what time is it?"
Inko checked her phone. "Almost six. Why?"
"The others," Izuku said, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice. "Kaito, Yuki, Daiki, and Hana. We were supposed to reach out to each other. Make sure everyone made it home okay. Make sure their families..." He trailed off, not wanting to voice the fear that some of them might not have had the reunion he'd had.
"Do you have their numbers?" Inko asked.
"Yeah, but they're home phone numbers. From ten years ago. I don't know if they still work."
"We can try," Inko said, handing him her phone. "Do you know how to use one of these?"
Izuku took the device carefully, his clawed fingers awkward on the smooth screen. "It's... different from what I remember."
Inko showed him how to dial, and Izuku carefully entered the first number Kaito's home phone, burned into his memory from their meeting in the warehouse.
It rang.
And rang.
Then "Hello?"
A woman's voice. Older, tired-sounding, but warm.
"H-hello," Izuku said, his voice uncertain. "Is... is Kaito there? Kaito Saruwatari?"
There was a pause. "Who is this?"
"I'm Izuku. Izuku Midoriya. I'm a friend of Kaito's. From... from before."
"Izuku?" The woman's voice changed, became excited. "Izuku Midoriya? The boy from the facility? Kaito said you might call! Hold on KAITO! IT'S IZUKU!"
There was scrambling, then Kaito's voice familiar and wonderful. "IZUKU! Dude! You made it home!"
"Yeah," Izuku said, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, I made it. My mom she was still here. She waited."
"Mine too!" Kaito's voice was full of joy and emotion. "She waited the whole time, man. Ten years and she never gave up. I've been eating real food and sleeping in a real bed and it's amazing and weird and "
"Hold on," Izuku said. "Let me try to get the others on the line. Can you stay there?"
"Not going anywhere."
Izuku fumbled with the phone until Inko showed him how to add callers. He dialed Yuki's number next.
It rang twice before a man answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, um, is Yuki there? Yuki Takami?"
"Who's asking?" The voice was cautious.
"Izuku Midoriya. I'm her friend. From... from the facility."
"Yuki!" The man's voice moved away from the phone. "It's one of your friends!"
A moment later, Yuki's musical voice came through. "Izuku?"
"Hey," Izuku said, relief flooding through him. "You made it home."
"I did." Her voice was soft, emotional. "My dad... he cried when he saw me. Said he knew I'd come home. He never stopped looking." She paused. "Are you okay? Is your mom—"
"She's here. She's perfect. Hold on, I'm getting everyone."
He added Daiki's number next.
A gruff male voice answered on the first ring. "Yeah?"
"Is Daiki there? Daiki Ryuzaki?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Izuku Midoriya. I'm his friend."
"Daiki!" The man's voice was rough but warm. "That friend of yours is calling!"
"Which one?" Daiki's deeper voice came through, carrying that characteristic hiss.
"Izuku. And I'm getting everyone else. You made it home?"
"Yeah." Daiki sounded almost surprised. "My parents... they're still here. Both of them. They kept my room the same and everything. It's weird as hell, but... good weird."
"One more," Izuku said, his heart pounding as he dialed Hana's number.
This time, a young woman answered maybe a sister? "Hello?"
"Hi, is Hana there? Hana Mushi?"
"Oh my god, are you one of the kids from the facility? Hold on HANA! PHONE!"
A moment later, Hana's quiet voice came through. "Hello?"
"Hana, it's Izuku. I got everyone else on the line too."
"Izuku?" Her voice brightened. "You're home? Everyone's home?"
"Yeah," Izuku said, looking at his mother who was watching with tears in her eyes. "We all made it."
Suddenly, all five voices were talking at once:
"I can't believe we all made it"
"my mom made actual food"
"weird sleeping in a bed"
"my dad wants to take me to doctors"
"everything is so loud"
"Guys! Guys!" Izuku laughed, and it felt good. "One at a time!"
There was a pause, then Kaito's voice came through, more serious now. "For real though. We all made it home. All five of us. Our families were waiting."
"They never gave up," Yuki added softly. "Even when the government told them we were dead."
"They should've known better," Daiki said, and there was fierce pride in his voice. "We're not that easy to kill."
"We survived the jungle," Hana said quietly. "Of course we survived coming home."
"So what now?" Kaito asked. "We just... go back to normal life? Try to be regular kids?"
"We're not regular kids," Daiki pointed out. "We never will be."
"No," Izuku said slowly, touching the tiger claw at his chest. "But maybe that's okay. Maybe we can be something better. Something more."
"Like heroes?" Yuki asked, and there was hope in her voice.
Izuku looked at his All Might poster visible through his bedroom door. At his mother, who was smiling at him with so much love and belief. At the phone connecting him to the only four people in the world who truly understood what he'd been through.
"Yeah," he said. "Like heroes."
"We'd be the weirdest heroes ever," Kaito laughed. "A cat boy, a monkey kid, a bird girl, a lizard guy, and a spider queen."
"The best heroes are always a little weird," Hana said, and there was a smile in her voice.
"We should meet up," Daiki said. "In person. Tomorrow? The warehouse?"
"Yeah," Izuku agreed. "Tomorrow. We figure out what comes next together."
"Together," they all echoed.
"Stay safe tonight," Yuki said. "All of you."
"You too," Izuku replied. "And guys? I'm really glad we all made it home."
"Me too," Kaito said.
"Same," Daiki added.
"We kept our promise," Hana said softly. "We said we'd see each other again, and we did."
"And we'll keep seeing each other," Izuku said firmly. "We're a pack. We're family. That doesn't end just because we're home."
"Damn right," Kaito agreed.
They said their goodbyes, promising to meet the next day, and one by one, the calls ended. Izuku handed the phone back to his mother, feeling lighter than he had in years.
"Your friends sound wonderful," Inko said, wiping her eyes. "And you're going to be heroes together?"
"Maybe," Izuku said. "I don't know how. I don't know if it's even possible. But..." He looked at her. "You said I could be a hero. That you believed in me. Do you really think we can do it?"
Inko cupped his face in her hands, looking into his cat-like eyes with nothing but love. "Izuku, you and your friends survived something that was designed to break you. You kept your humanity when everything tried to take it away. You came home when everyone said you were dead. If that's not heroic, I don't know what is."
She smiled. "So yes. I believe you can be heroes. All of you. You just have to believe it too."
Izuku pulled his mother into a hug, his tail wrapping around them both. "Thank you, Mom. For waiting. For believing. For everything."
"Always, baby," she whispered. "Always."
As night fell over Musutafu, five children who'd been lost were found again. Five predators who'd been made into weapons chose to become saviors instead. Five survivors who'd kept each other alive in hell were ready to face the world together.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Questions about their changes. Decisions about their futures. The world learning that Project Primal's subjects had escaped