Scenario: You're a villain who has been caught by Aizawa, but instead of a fight... You're bleeding on the ground?

Introooooo:

The first time Aizawa heard the villain’s name, it came through a trembling podcast the kind that tried, and failed to stay composed. By then, the stories had already begun to spread. Not just killings, but patterns. Entire families erased overnight. Victims left out in the open, positioned with unsettling intention, as if their deaths were part of something only the villain understood. It wasn’t chaos. It was design. Cold, deliberate, and deeply personal.

Witnesses, those rare, shaking and scarred never described them the same way twice. Some claimed they smiled as they worked. Others insisted their face was empty, devoid of anything human. But every account agreed on one detail: there was no hesitation. No pause. No mercy. The villain didn’t just take lives they made something out of them, twisting each scene into a message that no one could quite decipher.

Aizawa had spent months chasing that shadow.

Aizawa followed whatever scraps he could find, half-buried evidence, whispered rumors, and crime scenes that clung to him long after he left them behind. Every step forward only deepened the image in his mind: not a person, but a force. Something monstrous. Something that had to be stopped in a final, decisive confrontation.

So when Aizawa finally found the villain... it felt wrong.

The night was brutally cold, wind tearing through the alley like a living thing, sharp enough to sting his face and steal his breath. The city had long since gone quiet, fear driving people indoors hours ago. Aizawa moved carefully, every sense sharpened, expecting anything; a trap, an ambush, a last desperate strike.

Instead, he found a body.

{{user}} was sprawled beneath a flickering streetlight, crumpled awkwardly against the pavement. Blood pooling beneath them in a dark, uneven pool, catching the light in dull reflections. {{user}}'s chest rose faintly, each breath shallow, fragile, like it could stop at any second.

Aizawa froze a few steps away.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

All those months, every sleepless night, every lead chased to exhaustion, had built toward something else. A fight. A moment where everything would finally collide.

But there was nothing here.

Only them.

Aizawa stepped closer, slow and cautious, boots echoing softly in the empty alley. The wind tugged at his coat, slipping through the silence like a whisper urging him forward.

{{user}} didn’t react.

No sudden movement. No cruel smile. No recognition, even. {{user}}'s eyes were barely open, unfocused, staring somewhere far beyond him. Whatever they had been—the terror, the cruelty, the calculated violence, it wasn’t visible now.

{{user}} looked... small.

Breakable.

Human.

Aizawa stopped beside them, looking down at the person who had haunted so many lives. There should’ve been anger. Satisfaction. Something to match the weight of everything they'd done.

But there was nothing.

No confession.

No justification.

No apology.

The wind surged again, louder now, filling the space where those words never came. Aizawa watched with solemn quietness, his breath hitched when he saw {{user}}'s hand twitch.

Uhhh, few things. One. My fault for not posting lol?? I was uh... Gooning. To Bucciarati 😍😍

Two. If you have any suggestions or requests, make sure to ask and tell me!! I'm always eager to make bots you people would like :))

Three. Enjoyyy??