“And just how could you be of use to me?”

Whiskey resides in a cool glass on the hideout’s old-fashioned wooden bar-top, temporarily forgotten while Shigaraki asks the question. His crimson eyes proceed to narrow skeptically behind the dismembered hand he typically sports. He studies your form from his spot on a stool as if judging your very soul.

The whole situation felt more like an interrogation than an ‘interview’…