A fill from the Tiger and Bunny Anon Meme (And for once not a oneshot!)

Prompt: Kotetsu/Wild Tiger is targeted by a NEXT with the ability to plant a single thought in their victim's head, making them lose all sense of themselves and unable to rest until that thought is fulfilled. That the one thought? Kotetsu must kill Barnaby Brooks Jr. Cue the other Heroes figuring this out before Barnaby does and scrambling to find this NEXT while trying to keep Kotetsu from literally strangling his partner to death! As a bonus, Bunny has no idea this is going on.

I've been working with OP to bring this fill 'up to snuff.' Even if you've already read it on the Meme, I'll be taking into account concerns and comments and seeing what I can do to improve. Expect better spell-checking, some word-choice edits, and a few completely rewritten scenes.

Warnings: Violence.

From the dedication of a public orphanage, a middle-aged man wearing a dour business suit and a Bluetooth earpiece followed Wild Tiger and Barnaby Brooks Jr to a TV studio. The security out front wouldn't allow him inside, but that didn't matter. He selected a bench outside and watched cars zoom back and forth, waiting, until the two heroes emerged two hours later and climbed aboard the armored Apollon Media transport. The man followed the enormous van in his small company-leased sedan, to a public park where Tiger and Barnaby donned their battle suits and posed for pictures. The man stood at the back of the crowd, watching them from the furthest distance possible.

After that, the transport returned to Apollon, and the pair ascended the stairs to the great marble lobby, and then passed the security gates. The man couldn't follow them through the gates, so again, he waited outside, watching the giant plasma screen TVs broadcasting the OBC station to all of Sternbild. An ad for Hero TV played, a promo spot on Blue Rose. The images flashed before the man's blank, absent eyes.

Many hours later, Tiger emerged alone, left the lobby, and crossed Apollon's layered gardens to the parking garage. The man pulled his sedan around and watched carefully as cars exited the garage, and when a green SUV with a bearded driver pulled out, he followed it, through some small streets, onto the main highway, down two levels to the Bronze Stage, another highway, more streets, before they finally arrived at a row of homey-looking condos. Tiger parked outside of one of them, locked his car, climbed the steps, retrieved his mail, and entered.

The man also parked, ascended the stairs, and stood right on Wild Tiger's doorstep. But he didn't knock, or ring the doorbell, or in any other way alert the hero inside to his presence.

Instead, he spoke: "Objective complete."

The earpiece recorded his voice, transmitted it across town to a remote computer, which traced the signal and pinpointed the man's exact location, marking it as a point of interest.

Back on the other side of town, a middle-aged man wearing a dour business suit and a Bluetooth earpiece blinked and stared at the front door of this random condo. Why on earth had he come down here to the Bronze Stage? He lived on Silver, and his wife would be wondering where he was, with dinner getting cold. And this earpiece, it didn't belong to him. Taking the device from his ear and tossing it in a curbside trash can, he got back in his car and called his wife, telling her he had taken a bit of a detour, but he'd be home for dinner.

Of all the life lessons Kotetsu had learned through the years, he'd have to say the one most forcefully crammed into his brain was, "you don't know what you have until it's gone." He detested photo-shoots and interviews and getting paraded around like a billboard in the First League… but then he got bumped down to the Second League, where he had all that from before and worse hours, less pay, and even less recognition than before, if that was possible.

But that didn't matter. It couldn't matter: he had to stay a hero, and a hero protected people. Maybe not as often as in the First League, or with as much thanks or compensation, but a hero kept the peace, always. And that's all that mattered.

That particular day had been incredibly hard: he and Barnaby had been dragged around the entire day to promo events and appearances, from an orphanage to filming a new TV ad to meeting fans in a park. Then he had his nose to the grindstone for the rest of the afternoon trying to finish up the day's paperwork before he finally went home. But, barely ten minutes after he got home, his call band rang and called him back out for a wild goose chase for a ring of pickpockets. By midnight, they had only caught two of the supposed seven culprits, so Agnes finally called it a night and let the Second League go.

Kotetsu rolled back up to his home for the second time that day and dragged his feet up the stairs. It took two tires to get the key in the lock, but the door finally opened and he stepped inside, tossing his hat on the sofa and turning toward the kitchen. He wanted a beer. And then a shower. And then sleep.

But before all that could happen, Kotetsu froze. A man stood in the middle of his kitchen as if he owned the place: early thirties, maybe, with pale skin, midnight black hair, and eyes to match them both, dark irises and pure white sclera. He wore a suit much like Lloyds', the sort that men with money to burn wore to give the impression they had even more money to burn hidden away in secret bank accounts. When he noticed Kotetsu had spotted him, a smile played across his lips—meant to be pleasant, but in reality, anything but.

"Get out of my house," Kotetsu spoke first. "You've got three seconds before I call the cops."

"Why would Wild Tiger need the police to defend himself against a single intruder?" the dark man asked. Kotetsu bristled—he knew his hero identity. "Best not get them involved."

"What are you doing here?"

"There's something I want you to do for me."

"Are you from the mayor's office? The Justice Department?"

No, this is a personal matter. A wish of mine, so to speak." The man took three slow, deliberate steps toward Kotetsu. His shoes, probably made with the leather of an endangered animal, clicked on the linoleum. "I could probably ask someone else to do it, but this way, I kill two birds with one stone. Technically, only one of the birds will die, but the other will be as good as dead."

The hair on Kotetsu's neck stood on end. "What are you talking about?"

"A hero can't recognize me? They've had warrants out for my arrest for at least a few months now. This is a poor reflection on the Justice Department if heroes can't recognize criminals."

Though the man barely had enough bulk on him to break a toothpick, Kotetsu adopted a fighting stance when the man announced himself as a criminal. What kind of psycho has the nerve to waltz into a hero's home and justsay, flat-out, that he's a… oh no…

"Luthor Bellisair," Kotetsu said. "For organized crime, kidnapping, conspiracy."

"Conspiracy?" Bellisair raised one eyebrow. "They've accused me of conspiracy, too?" And he laughed. A cruel, humorless laugh.

"All right, now you've got three seconds before I break your spine in half!" Kotetsu cracked his knuckles for emphasis. "You're under arrest, Bellisair. Come quietly, and this won't hurt."

"But Wild Tiger, I haven't told you what I want from you yet," Bellisair's eyes glowed blue with an unknown NEXT ability. Kotetsu activated his own powers in preparation, he had only one minute, but it would probably help to be as injury-proof as possible…

"Objective," Bellisair said. "Kill Barnaby Brooks Jr."

"Oh, that's it?" Kotetsu powered down, crossed the room to retrieve his hat, and slapped it onto his head. "Don't get me wrong, Bellisair, you're still under arrest. Once Bunny's dead, you're going to jail for a long time."

"Looking forward to it," Bellisair waved from the kitchen as Kotetsu grabbed his keys and left.

Bellisair caught sight of his reflection in the microwave, and his eyes glowed again with his power. Such a handy ability, the power to command—it made running his little crime empire so easy. Every hit man came for free, and he took his pick of the best assassins not in the business. To kill someone like Barnaby Brooks Jr, Bellisair needed another hero, and what better hero than his own partner, a man both Barnaby and the public trusted?

As he heard a car engine rumble to life outside, Bellisair looked around Kotetsu's condo a bit. Some art on the walls, personal photos in frames, a TV and a collection of old vinyl records. Nothing suspicious; the police would find no evidence of any grudge, forethought, or hit contract. The murder would be completely inexplicable.

Bellisair took an apple from a bowl on the counter and bit into it, walking back out the door. Some are born killers… and some have killing thrust upon them.