Chapter Text
In the artificially lit dark of the earliest hours of the morning, a small woman rushed through back alleys and crumbling streets. Moving slightly faster than expected of a woman with her size and stature, her face was covered by a worn yet elaborately detailed mask. She was well aware that the mask, mostly black with iridescent green and red lines crossing and swirling in intricate patterns and thick laces holding the mouthpiece shut, was the only thing standing between her and the pain of never returning home. The fairly large bag she carried didn't do much to slow her down, but it weighed heavily on her mind nonetheless.
Inko Midoriya was on her way home from work. Inko Midoriya was doing all that she could to feed her family. Inko Midoriya, much to her own shame, was carrying as many raw human organs as she could possibly store in her bag. And it was taking all of her will power and the mask around her face to keep her from buckling down in the very alleyways she rushed through and shoveling them all into her mouth.
Not all men are created equal. This concept continues to apply even when the subject of the sentence isn't technically human.
Many modern scientists, well, nearly every modern scientist, would tell you that it has been generations since the last of the ghouls had gone extinct, all of them having been wiped out when humans first developed quirks and ghouls did not. Nearly every modern scientist would be wrong. Inko Midoriya, and of course her husband and son, could attest to that. Not that they ever would, of course, because who would ever admit to not only being a part of a species hunted to critical endangerment, but being incapable of consuming anything other than human flesh and the occasional cup of coffee?
It's not like she asked for this! Who could control the way that they were born? It used to be her dear husband Hisashi who would provide meals for their small family, but he had gone missing shortly after their son had turned three. Luckily, the morgue that had been passed down in his family for generations was signed to her name as well. Therefore, with a rushed finish to her education and a level of determination only a desperate plea for survival could bring, Inko found herself running the morgue and feeding herself and her son all on her own. Naturally, since no business could run alone, she had to do a lot of sneaking around her employees, and every day was feeling more and more like borrowed time.
Her feet hit the damp ground almost noiselessly as she turned another corner. Strands of short green hair fell from the messy half-up-bun in her hair, framing her face in a way that conveyed either madness or desperate fear, depending on how generous one was feeling. This mad dash back to her small apartment felt infinite and brief all at once, like it did every time before. Like a single second stretch out to fill endless maddening moments.
Her life had always been like this in one way or another, she thought to herself. She did her best not to focus on the ways it could have been different. After all, why mourn what you never had? Her own parents had made similar sacrifices for her, that she knew all too well.
But in moments like this, with her hunger-addled mind spinning and grasping at every passing thought in a chaotic flurry of desperation, she almost wondered if she resented them for it... She couldn't. She never would, she loved them and missed them far too much to ever fault them for the desire to live a full life. To survive and have a family, no matter the struggle. The same goal that they had inadvertently passed onto her. They should've had a right to that, as everyone did to something so basic to the nature of life. She could almost convince herself that she did too. It still didn't stop her from wondering if her darling son felt the same way.
So, while Inko Midoriya made her mad dash home from her workplace and towards her young son, she distracted herself from the appetizing smell in her hands by spewing listless apologies, silently, in her thoughts.