Portal Panic

A Cake For What Ails You

All scenes with only MHA characters will be written in English, for ease of reading, but the characters are actually speaking Japanese to each other.

"This sentence is in English, but shhh." This is for when the scene is from a Japanese character's POV and they don't understand English, or, if they understand some words, those are not underlined.

"Dialogue in Japanese that is getting translated in real-time." If all words are in bold, the English character can understand everything that is being spoken in Japanese.

If a scene is being translated the entire time, and there are no language issues anywhere in an entire scene because of a translation device, the scene will just be written as normal. But you know who speaks what. I believe in you.

Author's Note:

Sorry it took so long, this chapter has been hell for me. It was like pulling teeth. I was hardly interested in any of the scenes.

But, I persevered! Took a week off, then had major health issues and HAD to take a week off, then took down a wall in my house the third week. Then more health issues coupled with coming down with a bad cold (can't record audio with a cold lol). But yeah. Writer's block combined with all those things to bring you this. XD

Triggger warning: This chapter has one description that sounds like it's referencing suicide, but I didn't mean it that way. However, I don't want to change it because I really liked the description. Sorry folks.

Thursday, September 13th

8:42 am

A brunet perched on an office chair, one white-gloved finger lightly tapping a walnut desk in thought. A scruff of faux fur sat across his slender shoulders, the lining of the hunter-green parka tickling his neck and giving the impression of a griffon vulture staring down its next meal. Because, for once, the man's golden eyes did not have the sharpness of a predator, but the keen intrigue of a scavenger.

The computer monitor in front of him was split down the middle, dominated by two largely different graphics. On the left was a paused CCTV recording, the corner timestamped 9/11/83 9:04 am. On the right was some kind of analysis, graphs and numbers interspersing a document.

Reaching over to click his computer mouse, the young head watched as the image unfroze and started to play.

A green woman barreled across a mostly empty cafeteria, heaving her fists at a colorful law enforcer. The lady's bash missed her target, getting batted to the side and redirected to the floor. Her opponent's knee, however, did not miss. It jerked up as she fell and, with a sickening crunch, a viscous liquid splattered the linoleum.

Behind the battle, several civilians fled the room, ushered out by an armored figure.

The woman raised her arms and the local KFC started to rumble, spewing half-frozen chicken toward the fight.

A breeze kicked up, and a single, discarded napkin fluttered across the floor as if caught in the peripheral wind of the meat-nado. It tumbled through the jelly-like substance that coated the ground before sticking in place. Then, (with slightly more force than should have been possible) dislodged itself and danced away, a toxic green staining its surface.

Chisaki's smile rose unbidden, hidden behind a plain-black hospital mask.

Mimic always did do great work.

Thursday, September 13th

11:14 am

Try as she might, Lunch Lady couldn't stop thinking about yesterday. The encounter had left her a swirling, churning mess of emotions. She had lost! Tricked by that underhanded sack of rat droppings into an ambush. And that wasn't even the worst of it; he was starving his children.