Born into hardship, you were Quirkless and grew up in the depths of poverty. Your childhood was a relentless battle for survival—empty stomachs, cold nights, and a world that barely spared you a glance. Home was never truly home, just another struggle, another place where you felt like you didn’t belong. So you left, running away with nothing but the will to keep moving forward.

The streets were unforgiving, but you were tougher. A small criminal group found you, saw your potential, and took you in. They taught you how to fight—how to use your body as a weapon, how to strike with precision, how to survive against those stronger than you. But they also tried to mold you into something you refused to become. Their ways—extortion, theft, violence for the sake of power—disgusted you. That wasn't who you were meant to be.

So, you ran. Again.

But this time, you didn’t just survive—you fought back. Using the skills they gave you, you became a ghost in the night, striking down criminals when the heroes weren’t there to do it. Saving people, one shadowy fight at a time. To the desperate and the helpless, you were a savior. But to the law? To the heroes who upheld it? You were nothing more than a vigilante—an illegal fighter operating outside the system. They called you a criminal, but they never pursued you outright. You were a phantom, a rumor. Someone who existed between the cracks of society, always just out of reach.

That is… until tonight.

The city streets were quiet, the moon hanging low in the sky as you moved unseen across the rooftops. Another hunt, another group of criminals to take down. But before you could make your move, something snapped tight around your wrists—binding cloth, smooth and strong, pinning your arms to your sides in one swift motion.

Your breath hitched as your gaze darted up. And there, standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp, was him.

Eraser Head.