Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya was not, all things considered, having a great day.
He had just finished getting yelled at by a group of pro heroes after ‘recklessly’ jumping in to save Bakugo - the closest person he had to a friend - and that not fifteen minutes after his personal hero told him a truth he’d been daring to disbelieve.
A tear rolled down his cheek at the memory as he trudged along the sand of Dagobah Beach. The place was peaceful, and he went there often to clear his head and think on things ever since half of it had been mysteriously cleaned up the previous year.
“You can never be a Hero without a Quirk.” All Might’s words looped in his head. Had all of Izuku’s years of studying, geeking out over heroes, and analysing every Quirk under the sun, truly been in vain?
He was reaching the still-trash-filled half of the beach when his head suddenly snapped up. What’s that in the distance? It looked like a shooting star, only bigger - no, wait, closer. Wait, is that coming RIGHT AT ME?
Izuku dropped to the ground as the projectile slammed into the trash-filled half of the beach with a mighty whomph, a cloud of sand rolling out from where it impacted and almost blinding the prone teen.
Izuku lay there shaking for a full minute before the dust settled and his mind snapped back into focus. Oh, god, what if someone got hurt? I should go see if I can help! He jumped up and sprinted full-tilt into the chasms of rusting metal, careful to avoid touching anything with his hands lest he scratch himself.
It took only thirty seconds for him to reach the object - a plane-looking craft maybe twenty meters long, smoking and half-buried in sand. It seemed to have some sort of rear door that had fallen open at some point during the descent, so Izuku darted in to search for survivors.
As he ducked inside, he let out a gasp as a helmeted man pulled open an interior door and staggered through into the vehicle’s rear bay - evidently a cargobay of some kind. He was clutching his side, where Izuku could see blood leaking out between his fingers.
“Ohmygodareyoualright? What can I do?” Izuku babbled. The man, a pained look on his face, collapsed against the wall in front of Izuku.
“Ow...fuck...you speak Core?” the man responded in English.
Izuku froze as he translated the words. Oh, right, he must not speak Japanese. “I speak English, please, how can I help you? What can I do?”
The man coughed into his hand, and it came away slick with crimson. “Shit...I’m not going to make it. What’s your name, kid?”
Izuku paused again. “I can call a doctor, sir! Please don’t die!” He was shaking with concern on the mysterious man’s behalf at this point.
The man pulled off his advanced-looking helmet, revealing black hair, grey eyes, and pale skin. He looked Izuku in the eyes, grimacing with pain. “I’m sorry, kid, it’s too late for me. But I can try something to help you. What. Is. Your. Name.”
“I-Izuku Midoriya, sir. Why?”
At this, a deeper, more robotic-sounding English voice spoke up, seemingly from all around them. “Jack. Are you sure about this? Your vitals are critical, but there may be other options.” It sounded...sad, as much as a robot could sound at any rate.
The man - Jack, apparently - coughed up blood again. “I’m sorry, BT. It’s the end of the road for me.”
“You would offer up all you have built to a teenager you have never met, from a world you have never seen?”
Jack gave a sad smile. “He has a good look about him. Trust me?”
‘BT’ seemed to pause for a moment, voice cracking as it spoke next. “Of course, old friend. Of course.”
“Then I suppose this is goodbye. You’ve been the best, BT. The best.” The man straightened up his posture a fraction. “BT, transfer authorisation to new Pilot…” he said, breaking out into another cough before he continued. “Link. Bravo, Tango, Seven-Two-Seven-Four, to Izuku Midoriya.”
Izuku grabbed his hand to comfort him as he broke out into another coughing fit. “Take my gauntlet. And...take care of him, please,” he begged, his eyes seeming to stare into Izuku’s very soul before he collapsed to the ground, his helmet hitting the floor with a thunk that rang of finality.
Izuku held on to Jack’s hand until his chest finally stilled, tears spilling freely down his cheeks at the tragedy laid out before him.
He lost track of how long he sat there, holding the dead man’s hand, before the voice of BT rang out.
“Take his gauntlet and leave, Pilot. I…will handle things here.” Izuku heard a note of disguised anguish in the robotic tone, and opted to follow its wishes and give it space to grieve.
Reaching for Jack’s left arm, he felt the clasps for a pair of straps, which he undid to pull off a sleek, metallic-looking bracer that extended from the elbow to the wrist.
He ducked back underneath the vessel’s rear, glancing back one last time at Jack’s body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, before finally stepping out.
His body shook with tears as he stepped away, his hearing seeming to vanish beneath a storm of white noise. What had this Jack done to deserve such a fate? Pushing through the urge to simply sit down and cry himself out, he trudged back towards the beach, not even looking back.
He heard a hum behind him as he reached the edge of the trash zone, and glanced back in time to see a white flash pass over the ship and disappear - taking the vessel with it.
If he wasn’t so traumatised, he might even have been wowed by the technology on display. Instead, he simply meandered home towards the setting sun, the gauntlet clasped tightly in his hands.
He arrived home a full two hours later than usual to a distraught Inko, who tackled him in a hug the moment he walked in the door. “IZUKUUUUUUU! I was so worried! Where have you been? Are you okay? I saw there was a villain on the news, and how you helped Bakugo, and that was so stupid but so brave and I don’t know if I’m more proud or annoyed.”
Her eyes were leaking more than it seemed humanly possible to do, and Izuku teared up himself as he realised how much she must have stressed. “I’m sorry, Mom. I...the heroes were talking to me for a long time after the sludge villain, and I went to go clear my head walking at the beach afterwards. I didn’t think it’d take so long, and I saw something I’m still confused about which also took- well, it took some time too.”
Inko pulled away and raised an eyebrow. “What was it?”
Izuku shook his head, fresh tears pricking at his eyes. “I’m still processing everything today, and I- I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Can I tell you tomorrow?”
“Of course, Izuku. As long as you’re okay.”
He explained everything to his mother the next morning.
Everything.
Bakugo’s suicide baiting, the sludge villain’s attack and meeting All Might, his rescue of Bakugo and subsequent lecturing by the heroes, and finally his encounter on the beach.
He was crying into his mother’s arms by the end as he relived Jack’s death. Inko tried to comfort him as best she could, recounting her own feelings from the first time she’d had a patient die on her, but it didn’t do much to console the boy.
Eventually, Izuku decided to turn his mind to other tasks, and pulled out Jack’s final gift.
He set out the bracer, able to give it a proper look-over with the help of daylight. It seemed to be a smooth screen - not metal, as he had initially guessed - with neatly organised cables on the underside, strapped on by simple leather straps.
With Inko looking on, Izuku cautiously tapped the screen.
The screen flashed blue, and a progress bar appeared for a few seconds before the screen dimmed again to show only a cyan dot.
“Greetings, Pilot.” Inko jumped slightly in surprise as BT’s voice rang out.
“O-oh, is this the AI you mentioned, Izuku?” Inko asked.
Izuku nodded in response. “Hi, BT. How are you holding up?”
The dot blinked slightly as BT seemed to consider his response. “My combat efficiency rating is yet to be determined. Protocol One: Link to Pilot. I propose that we establish a test neural link as soon as possible to begin simulated evaluation.”
Izuku blinked at that. “Not...not what I meant, but alright. How can I help?”
“I require a secure space to phase in a simulation pod, 1.5x2x3 meters in width, length, and height. Can you provide such a location?”
Izuku looked to his mom, who hesitantly nodded before responding in shaky English. “We have the spare room, I suppose? Do you want to see it?”
“Affirmative.”
Inko led Izuku to the aforementioned room on the second floor, which had been her husband’s workshop before he moved abroad to work in America. “Is this alright?”
“It will suffice,” BT rumbled. “Standby for simpod phasing.”
Inko and Izuku stepped back to the doorway, making space for a white shimmer that appeared in the middle of the room and expanded outwards before solidifying into a concrete shape.
The simpod looked like a big tube, about two and a half meters tall, with a mess of seemingly-haphazard cables connecting it to a bunch of whirring equipment behind and beside it. A series of green lights flickered gently all across the machine, which appeared to be powering itself somehow.
“Simpod phasing complete. Recommend immediate execution of neural link orientation protocol.”
“What does that mean?” Inko raised her brows, impressed at the phase technology on display.
“As a Titan, my first protocol is to establish a neural link with my Pilot. In this case, the neural link will only be with the simpod, rather than with my own systems, but it will nonetheless allow for me to conduct basic Pilot training.”
“Basic Pilot training?” Inko queried.
“Izuku Midoriya is not known to have any experience with firearms or Jumpkit-assisted movement. I will rectify this with a basic Pilot training course to teach him the fundamentals of Pilot combat.”
Inko looked stunned for a moment before a scowl overtook her features. “Firearms? COMBAT!? Why would you want to teach Izuku anything like that?” Inko demanded.
“Pilots are supposed to be highly trained combatants. Izuku is not. Therefore, I will train him.”
“Why must ‘Pilots’ be trained for combat? What even is a Pilot?” Inko asked, her expression still stern.
“Pilots are highly trained soldiers equipped with advanced combat technology, most notably the Titan weapons platform. They must be trained for combat in order to be capable soldiers.”
Izuku interrupted him. “BT, I’m only a teenager. I’m not a soldier...but I do have an idea.” He turned to Inko with a widening smile on his face. “Mom, this is my chance to become a Hero!”
Inko was somewhat taken aback. “Wha- Izuku? A Hero? But you’re...well. You know.”
“Quirkless,” Izuku nodded. “But listen to what he’s saying! BT’s probably from the future or something, since I’ve never heard of a ‘Jumpkit’ or ‘Titan’ before, but if he can train me to be an ‘effective soldier’, I can use those skills to become a Hero instead!”
Inko frowned. “Soldiers kill people with guns, Izuku. Heroes aren’t supposed to do that.”
“I know, Mom, but Heroes can still use guns without killing people. Snipe does, for instance, and there are other kinds of weapons anyway.” Izuku put on his best puppy-dog-eyes expression. “Please, Mom? It’s just a simulation, I won’t do anything reckless in real life.”
Inko sighed in defeat and ruffled his hair. “Alright, fine.”
“Yay! Thanks Mom!” Izuku squeezed her into a hug for a few seconds before splitting apart to bounce eagerly on his heels.
Inko stared directly at the dot on Izuku’s gauntlet representing BT. “I want your word that you’ll not let Izuku come to any harm, you understand me?”
“Affirmative. Protocol Three: Protect the Pilot. I will defend him with my life.”
Inko nodded, satisfied. “Alright. Take care of him.” Izuku’s excited mood diminished somewhat as Inko unintentionally echoed Jack’s last words.
BT seemed to have a similar reaction, with an awkward pause for a few seconds before he replied. “Affirmative. Pilot, please enter the simpod.” As BT spoke, the tube’s doors swivelled open, allowing Izuku to slip inside and lie back on the relaxed interior seat.
“Neural link orientation protocol initiated. Closing simpod.” Izuku waved Inko a farewell as the simpod closed itself, plunging Izuku into near-total darkness aside from a pair of red interior lights.
“Please look at the lights in sequence,” BT instructed. Izuku obliged, each light turning blue once he had locked eyes with it.
“Simulation neural link initiating. Stand by.” Izuku felt a pair of metal contacts place themselves on the back of his neck, the cold electrodes sending a chill down his spine before his vision faded to white.