After asking his questions earlier in the day, Mewtwo left the facility and waited. He knew patience was key. Only when night finally fell did he make his move.
Perched atop the tallest building in the city, Mewtwo had a perfect view of the port below. From that height, the city looked peaceful, almost serene. Lights flickered across rooftops, the sea glinted under the moonlight, and the faint hum of life continued far beneath him.
It was a beautiful night—calm and quiet. But he knew better. The darkness often brought out the worst. Villains preferred to strike when half the city was asleep.
Many had flashy quirks that worked best under cover of night, and without watchful eyes, their actions went unnoticed.
Without wasting another second, Mewtwo rose silently into the air. The wind rushed past him as he soared higher, then arched downward toward the warehouse. From above, he pinpointed the building he had visited earlier and positioned himself directly above it. Then, without hesitation, he deactivated his telekinesis and allowed gravity to take control.
He plummeted, with his arms relaxed at his sides, his face calm despite the rapidly approaching rooftop. Just before impact—only a few meters from the surface—he activated his power again.
A gentle burst of telekinesis slowed his descent, and he landed silently on the metal ceiling with no sound.
Now the real work begins, he thought.
Moving low and with precision, Mewtwo crouched to stay out of sight. He glided across the roof, approaching the section of the warehouse closest to the docks.
From his vantage point, he could see activity inside through the high windows. Workers were moving wooden crates, carrying them from one area to another.
Some of them he recognized from earlier—they had been working during the day. Others were new, perhaps only present for the night shift.
Among them, he spotted the manager, Louis Riddley. And beside him was the same guard who had greeted "Goto" earlier—the name Riddley had used during the meeting.
But now, the guard wasn't patrolling or standing watch. Instead, he was giving orders, directing the workers as if he were in charge.
That raised a red flag.
The workers responded to him with silent obedience. No one questioned him.
Mewtwo observed how they moved, lifting and loading crates onto trucks parked near the rear of the warehouse.
There was something unsettling about how smoothly it all ran—too smooth for a supposedly overwhelmed business running late-night shifts.
Mewtwo shifted his gaze to the crates. They appeared ordinary: sturdy wooden boxes, each with a paper label affixed to the top. From a distance, there was nothing particularly strange about them. No glowing symbols. No locked containers. No suspicious seals. Just boxes. That was the problem.
If he couldn't find something suspicious, something clear and undeniable, he couldn't act.
Charging in without evidence would be reckless—and stupid.
If he attacked someone without cause, even by mistake, he wouldn't just face backlash; he could be suspended or even expelled from the hero career.
This was more than a mission now—it was a test. One misstep could ruin everything.
He needed proof, something solid.
Until then, he had no choice but to wait.
He decided to move in closer. With a silent leap from the main warehouse roof, Mewtwo headed toward the area where the workers had been unloading the wooden crates.
The destination was clear now—a large cargo ship docked at the edge of the port. Whatever was being delivered, it came from that vessel.
Mewtwo crouched low, keeping his presence hidden among the rows of massive shipping containers stacked across the port.
Shadows clung to the edges, and he used them to stay out of sight as he navigated the maze.
As he drew nearer, he watched the final steps of the operation unfold.
The workers aboard the ship were nearly finished. They unloaded the last few crates, brought them inside the warehouse to inspect their contents, then sealed them again and passed them along to waiting trucks.
Looks like I'll have to get inside that warehouse, he thought, eyes narrowing. That would be risky.
The warehouse was the brightest spot in the entire port, flooded with artificial lighting on all sides. Getting spotted was a real possibility. But if he wanted answers, he had no other choice.
Mewtwo retreated silently back to the warehouse roof and searched for an entry point. After a brief scan, he spotted a ventilation opening near the far edge. It was narrow—far too small for him to fit in his current form. Unless...
With a brief flicker of light, Mewtwo shed his transformation.
In his human guise, Raiden returned—leaner, smaller, and far less conspicuous. At a modest height of 1.72 meters, without the tail or bulk of his other form, he could fit through the vent. He quietly approached and prepared to enter.
His armor, however, posed a problem. It was too heavy and too noisy for tight, silent movement. Reluctantly, he left it behind, hidden on the rooftop. The only thing he took with him was a slim wristwatch that functioned as a communicator and phone.
Raiden slipped into the vent with effort but managed to crawl through the narrow metal shaft. The confined space forced him to move slowly, carefully, keeping his weight balanced to avoid loud creaks or vibrations that could alert the people below.
Eventually, he reached a small ventilation grid overlooking a room. Moving cautiously, he loosened the panel and eased his head out for a look. He found himself directly above the manager's office.
An opportunity.
Without wasting another second, he quietly dropped down into the room. He landed softly on the carpeted floor and immediately approached the desk, hoping to find something useful—files, documents, anything that could expose what was really happening here.
But as he flipped through folders and scanned the surface, disappointment set in. Everything was routine—shipping manifests, inventory logs, maintenance schedules. All standard. Nothing out of place. Nothing suspicious.
"Tsk," he muttered under his breath, frustrated. He pushed the last folder aside and crept toward the office door.
After listening for a few seconds to make sure no one was nearby, he slowly opened it and stepped out onto the second floor walkway. Below him, the warehouse buzzed with activity. Workers moved quickly, focused on their tasks. No one looked up. Moving carefully from shadow to shadow, Raiden made his way closer to the center of the warehouse floor.
He stopped just above the group inspecting the crates.
That's when he saw it—finally, something that didn't belong.
One of the crates had been opened slightly, and inside was gear. Not tools or industrial supplies, but hero equipment. Battle suits. Utility belts. Branded accessories that only registered heroes or their support teams should have access to.
This wasn't just an ordinary shipment.
Raiden's eyes narrowed as his mind began to connect the dots. .
Hero gear—just like the name suggested—was the specialized equipment used by heroes as part of their suits. Armor pieces, reinforced fabric, support gadgets, and more. If everything in those crates was just that... then what was the point of all this?
Raiden frowned. Had he gone through all that effort for nothing? Technically, transporting hero gear wasn't illegal. It wasn't like they were smuggling weapons or contraband substances. On the surface, everything looked completely normal.
Still, something didn't sit right with him.
Sure, hero gear was subject to strict regulations. It had to be crafted with precision and tailored to individual heroes' Quirks—custom-built and often made in limited quantities. That's why this shipment raised a red flag.
The volume was absurd. There were way too many crates for this to be a regular delivery. And the kind of gear inside didn't look custom madee, it looked mass-produced.
Raiden's instincts told him there was more to this than met the eye. But now he had another problem.
He was close enough to try reading their minds, a skill that might have given him the answers he needed. Unfortunately, in his current human form, that ability was severely limited. His psychic powers were almost completely suppressed when he wasn't transformed. And if he shifted back into his original form here, the glow from the transformation would easily give away his position.
For now, I'll just get closer. Maybe I can catch something useful, he thought.
With a few quiet, practiced movements, Raiden leapt from the walkway and climbed up one of the taller stacks of crates inside the warehouse. Using bits of parkour to stay agile and quiet, he crept closer to the group of workers standing near the opened containers.
They were chatting casually as they inspected the contents—just the kind of distraction he needed. Raiden positioned himself above and behind them, hidden in the shadows but close enough to finally hear what they were saying.
And finally, something useful.
"Hey," said one of the workers, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Don't you think this shipment's way too big? I mean, look at all this gear. What is this group trying to do—start a war?"
Raiden's eyes narrowed.
That was more than idle talk. That was a lead.
"Haha, I don't think it's that serious," one of the workers said with a shrug.
"But yeah, gear can seriously boost a Quirk's power. From what I've heard, the people who ordered all this are part of a mafia group. At least, that's what the rumors say. Honestly, I don't really care—and neither does the manager. We just move the cargo. If something's illegal… well, you remember what to do, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," another replied, sounding bored. "We don't know anything, and we're just working some extra hours."
The group kept talking casually as they handled the equipment. A few of them even messed around with the gear, trying on pieces or pretending to use them before repacking everything and sealing the crates again.
One by one, the boxes were moved onto trucks using a cargo lift.
From his hidden spot above, Raiden narrowed his eyes. That was enough confirmation. This wasn't a normal delivery—these people were moving illegal hero gear, and in massive quantities.
Now, he needed to make sure none of them got away before authorities could step in.
First step: contact Kaina. If he could get a message out, she could set up a perimeter around the port. That way, no one could slip out unnoticed, and every single person involved could be arrested.
But just as Raiden began to retreat, ready to send for backup, one of the workers suddenly brought up something that stopped him cold.
"Hey… is that rumor about Goto true?"
Raiden's attention sharpened immediately. Goto. The so-called guard. But if the rumors were true, he was far more dangerous than some dock security.
"Yeah, I think it's true," one of them replied, voice dropping a bit. "They say he's killed people."
"For real! He totally looks like he could" added another, clearly nervous.
"There's just something about him, man—he creeps me out. Last week, he sent one of us to the hospital. I'm telling you, I'm not messing with that guy."
Before anyone could say more, a sudden, chilling silence fell over the group. In one terrifying instant, the worker who had just spoken was lifted off the ground by one arm—held high in the air like a ragdoll.
"If you don't want to get on my bad side," a deep voice said, smooth and laced with menace, "you should be working."
The speaker was Goto.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features and cold, pale eyes, Goto looked down at the struggling worker with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"S-Sir! I'm sorry—I'm really sorry!" the worker gasped, kicking wildly as he clutched at the hand wrapped around his head, trying to pry it off. Panic filled his voice as the pressure increased.
"All of you," Goto said, loud enough for everyone in the warehouse to hear, "should be working. Not gossiping about things that don't concern you."
Then something horrifying happened. The muscles in Goto's arm began to grow—visibly bulging, swelling unnaturally. Veins popped along his bicep and forearm as more muscle fiber seemed to form right under his skin, twisting and expanding with terrifying speed, some of them even grew outside his skin, making them visible.
He wasn't just strong—his Quirk made him stronger, building raw muscle mass on demand.
The worker's screams echoed through the warehouse. Everyone else froze, too afraid to move.
And Raiden, still hidden above, clenched his fists. this was going to force him to act.