fear.

twice was used to that feeling; everytime he fought, he was fearful he might loose the people he cared about, the league was his family - his home.

for a moment, hawks was his family - he should've known better.

he was forced onto the nape of his neck, his body awkwardly contoured in the air like a puppet without a master, the pro hero that should've worked to save him, was above him, using his quirk to barely pin the red feathers onto his skin tight suit - pressing him to the verge of panic.

hawks was a fraud, he knew this. he knew that he was just a puppet to the hero commission, played like a toy - he doesn't want to do this, it was a simple game of the master lifted his hand against his will - he was a hero - not a murderer.

SLAM!

you stumble into the room, and both heads shoot near you, your next move.