Lucas stood on the edge of the apartment rooftop, the city stretching out below him like an ocean of neon lights and muffled chaos. He adjusted the hoodie he wore to conceal his face, the fabric slightly worn but familiar. Tonight was significant—it wasn't just any night. It was his 18th birthday.
For most people, today would be a celebration, a rite of passage into adulthood. For Lucas, it was the day he chose to step into the shadows and embrace what the world already thought he was: a monster. A vigilante.
---
The years since his quirk first manifested had been lonely. At fourteen, he'd lost his parents in a car accident. Not that their absence changed much; they'd emotionally distanced themselves from him years before, ever since society branded him with the title of "villain quirk." Their fear had turned to resentment, and while they provided the basics—food, shelter, and clothes—their affection had long since dried up.
When the crash happened, Lucas felt nothing. No tears, no grief. Just a quiet acknowledgment of their absence.
But he wasn't entirely alone.
William Afton had become more than just a lingering vestige of someone else's life. Over the years, the man—if he could even be called that—had taken on the role of a mentor, and, strangely enough, a father figure.
"You can't punch your way out of everything," William had said during one of their many late-night sessions. "But knowing *how* to punch? That's a good start."
Boxing became their first shared discipline, a way for Lucas to channel the aggression and frustration that came with being ostracized. While William was limited to his spectral form, he had an uncanny ability to guide Lucas with precision.
Then came the lessons in hacking. "Knowledge is power, kid," William would say, his voice laced with a mix of pride and regret. "If you want to stay one step ahead of the heroes and villains alike, you'll need more than fists and claws. You need information."
Lucas learned to slip into systems, find weaknesses, and track movements. These skills would serve him well for what he planned to do next.
---
In this world, aspiring heroes didn't enroll in high school programs. Hero training came after graduation, through specialized colleges designed to mold students into pro heroes. Lucas had no interest in joining them.
The heroes didn't need him, and he didn't need them.
"Hero schools are for people who want permission to do what's right," Lucas muttered, tightening the gloves on his hands. His voice carried a hint of bitterness. "I'm not waiting for permission."
"You're sure about this?" William's voice echoed in his mind. His spectral form materialized beside Lucas, leaning casually against the edge of the rooftop. The glow of his presence was dim, but his presence felt solid and reassuring.
Lucas nodded. "Yeah. I've thought about it long enough. The hero system is flawed—corrupt even. They care more about their image than the people they're supposed to protect. If I want to make a difference, I need to do it my way."
William regarded him with a mix of pride and caution. "Just remember, kid, you can't save everyone. And if you start thinking you can, you're going to burn out fast."
"I know." Lucas's voice was steady, resolute. "But if I don't do something, who will?"
---
Lucas adjusted the mask he'd crafted for himself, a makeshift piece that resembled a twisted version of Nightmare Bonnie. Its sharp teeth and hollow eyes were meant to inspire fear—not in the innocent, but in the criminals who preyed on them.
He stepped into the night, his form blending into the shadows of the city. The first target had been chosen carefully: a small gang that operated out of a rundown warehouse, known for smuggling weapons and exploiting quirkless citizens.
Lucas had spent weeks gathering information on them, using the skills William had taught him. Tonight, they would learn that the city had a new predator.
The warehouse was dimly lit, the faint hum of machinery and muffled voices echoing through the space. Lucas crept through the shadows, his movements silent. He could feel the transformation bubbling just beneath his skin, his quirk eager to manifest.
"Patience," William's voice reminded him. "Control is key. Let the monster out only when it's time."
Taking a deep breath, Lucas unleashed his quirk. His body shifted, growing larger and more grotesque. The metallic sheen of Nightmare Bonnie's form caught the faint light, and his glowing red eyes pierced through the darkness.
The first thug barely had time to scream before Lucas was upon him.
---
The fight was quick and brutal. Lucas didn't kill—he'd made a promise to himself and to William—but he didn't hold back either. By the time he was done, the gang members were either unconscious or scrambling to escape, their screams echoing through the night.
He left them tied up with their stolen goods, a message carved into the ground beside them:
"Not a hero. Not a villain. Just a nightmare."
As he disappeared into the night, Lucas felt a strange sense of satisfaction. For the first time, he felt like he'd taken control of his life, his destiny.
"Not bad for your first outing," William said, appearing beside him. "But don't get cocky. This is just the beginning."
Lucas smirked, his breath visible in the cold night air. "Good. I'm just getting started."
And so, the Nightmare Vigilante was born. A figure of fear in the criminal underworld, a ghost in the eyes of the heroes, and a symbol of hope for those the system had failed.