Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shoto yawned as he stood up from his desk; the day had been long. He had been working long hours. He lived alone now, so he didn’t exactly have anything else to do. And as the number three hero, he didn’t want to fall behind.

He couldn’t wait to get home to Mika, the little white cat that he got two years ago to keep him company in his downtime. She loves to cause mischief, it was nothing to come home to the house being a mess after she had been running around.

He wondered what it was like to be a cat, to have little responsibility, to not have to worry about keeping itself alive and earning love.

He didn’t ponder it on his way home, he didn’t need to go down that rabbit hole tonight.

It had been dark when he left, the city was peaceful at this time. It was easy to lose yourself in the chaos.

His job was a challenge, of course, but it was rewarding to be able to walk through safe streets.

This is what he was made for, to make people feel safe. And to make sure they are well.

His time at UA only made it clearer that this job is what he was made for.

The cool air felt good on his skin, the peacefulness was calming. It was odd for nothing to be happening. It was something he didn’t experience very often.

He decided to stop at the park near his house to enjoy some of the night. Mika wouldn’t mind; she had everything that she needed at home.

So as he sat on the bench watching the stars and moon his body relaxed. He wasn’t under any pressure right now, he didn’t need to worry, this was time for him, he deserves this.

His peace is quickly interrupted by a shrill scream ringing through the park that has him on his feet running in seconds. His hero instincts are in hyperdrive.

He sprints to an alley across from the park scanning the area, he does the same with the next several alleys until he hears the scream again, he’s closer.

He’s running again getting closer and closer. He had to get to whoever it was fast, that scream was one of terror, a sound he’d only heard when someone was being assulted.

He rounds the corner of one of the alleys and finds the culprit of the voice. A man by the looks of it, but he looks unharmed.

“Are you okay, sir? Why were you screaming?” he asks.

“I needed to get someone’s attention.”

“Yes, but why?” he says again.

“I got stuck under something but was able to free myself,” the man says.

“Do you need medical aid?”

“I think so, My leg is hurt; you’re a hero, right? Shoto?” the man says as Shoto approaches.

“Yes, I'm off duty right now, just on my way home.”

“I’m sorry for this then,” the man says.

“Sorry for what?” he asks, confused.

He doesn’t even get to look at the mans leg before theres several sets off feet running at him.

He whirls around, ready for a fight, then sees that there are seven of them, excluding the man behind him.

He reached for his quirk, but nothing happened. One of them had a canceling quirk that could cause some problems. his hand-to-hand was good but not good enough to go up against seven others.

They come at him, and he’s quickly overpowered. Pinned to the ground and something is placed against his face, he holds his breath for as long as possible, but it’s a losing game, he’s sucked into the darkness.

His last thought was how he needed someone to go check on Mika.

(Later)

He wakes up in a dark room, he can feel metal restraints wrapped around his wrists, ankles, calves, thighs, waist, chest, neck, and head. There's needles piercing in more places than not. His head had a dull ache. There's something in his mouth forcing his mouth shut, like wires keeping his jaw clamped down, unable to open without agony. He quickly learned that speaking or talking only caused more pain.

He wonders where he is. Why is he here? What do they want from him?

He doesn’t worry too much, he knows that one of his co-workers will find him eventually.

But as hours and poaaibly days passed and he got more and more confused and disoriented, forgetting things he most certainly should remember.

Who are his family? What are their names? What’s his name? His brain feels like mush.

Some moments have more clarity where he can remember his name, but his will is quickly deteriorating. A large part of him wants to give up, to let the drugs pushed into his system take over, to let these people win.

The other smaller part screams at him to not give up. he’s been through eighteen years of abuse and trauma, he’s been a hero for five years, he’s been through worse, and he’s never given up.

But he’s so tired, and thinking is getting harder and harder. If he let himself be mindless, maybe the pain would stop.

The darkness, the overwhelming loneliness, it was making him crazy. He knows that, he can’t think straight.

But what else is he supposed to do? He can’t escape this, this is his new reality.

He wonders how long he’s been here. Unmoving, unhearing, unseeing, voice locked behind chains.

He had to remember who he was, the voice said, the voice that was getting smaller and smaller. The voice that is starting to give in, to give into the hopelessness of his situation.

He knows that there are people out there; perhaps they’d never even noticed his absence. Maybe this was the only thing that was real, maybe everyone was here; maybe this wasn’t real; maybe he wasn’t real; maybe this was all just a bad dream.

He needs to remember who he is.

He’s Shoto, Shoto Todoroki, he’s a pro hero.

He's, he’s, who is he again?

He's forgetting, he’s forgotten, he’s no one, he’s a body, a vessel, he’s not a real person.

Chapter Text

When Shoto was a no show for work on Monday Izuku had been worried to say the least, Shotos been a hero for years and never missed a day, he usually worked late and came in early.

Maybe he was sick? That wasn’t good if so, with his quirk he was out for the count for days last time he was sick, his quirk went haywire.

He'd called the younger man several times with no response, maybe his phone was dead? He'd been known to let that happen.

He'd go check on him after work or on his break. He'd been given a key to his apartment for a reason.

His fondness for Shoto had only grown once out of UA watching as he rose up through the ranks, regardless of if he wanted to or not. But Shoto didn’t seem to reciprocate the feelings.

He knows he’s not working as well as he can through the day, mind too focused on his friends.

When his shift is over he makes his way to Shoto's apartment, it’s smaller and on the bad side of town, even though he could easily afford a better place to live, but Shoto liked it, he didn’t want or need a lot of space, he didn’t like things, most of the clutter in the apartment was Mika’s toys and cat trees which Shoto had purchased at least four by now.

He walks up the stairs and down the hall knocking on the mans door.

“Sho?” he calls when he gets no response from the other side of the door.

He knocks again and he gets no response.

He unlocks the door and hears Mika’s high pitched meow fill his ears as she trots over to him.

“Hello?” he calls, the apartment unusally quiet. Even for Shoto’s standard, he usually had some sort of music playing, it was never dead silent, he hated it being dead silent.

He walks into the house, slipping off his shoes.

He looks in the kitchen, nothing, Mika’s food dish is empty, he’s starting to get nervous now, that was unheard of he made sure that Mika always had plenty of food to eat.

He moves more quickly through the house.

Soon he realizes that the house is completely empty.

His heart is hammering, where is he?

He feeds Mika while calling Sero, maybe he knows where he is, it wasn’t a secret that the boys liked each other but both were to clueless to realize the other liked them.

“What’s up?” Sero says in his usual pep.

“Is Shoto with you?”

“No, why?”

“He didn’t come to work today, he’s not at his place either and Mika’s food dish was completely empty when I got here.”

The lines dead for a second.

“That’s strange, I’m on my way over there now, call Aizawa Sensei” he says.

They hang up after that and he places the phone to his ear after clicking their old senseis phone number.

“What do you want problem child,” the man says in his usual tone.

“Shoto’s missing,”

“What do you mean?” he says with some panic.

“He didn’t come to work today so I went to his house after work and he wasn’t here and Mika’s food dish is empty so I called Sero to see if he was with him and he wasn’t and his phones going straight to voicemail,” he says in one breath, very quickly.

“Woah, slow down, that doesn’t mean his missing, maybe he had something come up?”

“He didn’t call the agency to tell us.”

He can almost hear aizawas frown.

“Well I'll come over and we can regroup, you’re sure there’s no where else he would’ve gone? What about his siblings?”

“He would’ve called us to tell us, and it’s not like him to skip work,”

“Okay you stay there I'm driving over to you and we can work this out.”

He does so pacing the small apartment.

There's a knock on the door that breaks both occupants of the home attention.

Izuku nearly runs to the door, that may be Shoto.

When he opens the door he’s meet by Sero who looks as frazzled as Deku feels.

“Aizawa sensei is on the Way,” izuku says.

Mika is rubbing herself against seros legs.

“How’d you get here so fast,”

“Legally,” the man says a little too quickly.

Aizawa is there next.

He doesn’t bother knocking just lets himself in.

They spend the next hour making calls and trying to figure out who saw him last, and it was one of his co workers before they left.

So Shoto’s been unheard of for about eighteen hours.

They split up after that trying to hunt down the boy, Sero finds his phone in an alley blood litered the ground below.

The police were called in and his phone was taken in as evidence.

There was no CCTV cameras in this area but they seen him in the park nearby on the cameras that were in there.

They spent weeks trying to find the dual quirked boys, nearing two months before they had to call it a cold case, they were losing there number one heros to this case and were losing too many resources, and he’d been gone for so long.

They pronounced him dead.

Izuku and Sero continued their search in their free time, spending so much time together that they started growing fond of each other, Hanta had many good qualities, he was handsome and determined.

They moved in together six months into their search. Getting together two months later, Mika had already been with Izuku, and she loved Sero too.

Izuku's on patrol one night when he see’s red flash in the corner of his eye.

It's just red that he sees.

He brushes it off at first as his mind playing tricks on him.

Then the next day they catch word of pro hero Snipe being murdered by an unknown villain.

Izuku begins seeing the red more often, like it’s following him.

They learn of the person, they wear all dark, is lethal, he has a water based quirk by the looks of it.

They can climb well, is incredibly strong.

They emerged over night, and he was killing hero’s or injuring them.

His mind has to be focused on taking this person, before more people are hurt, or killed.

Chapter Text

The lights were so bright, they stung his too sensitive eyes.

Being in the dark then exposed to the bright lights without warning left him disoriented.

He was still tied to the table, hair in his eyes.

Someone with a mask on comes in, they have something in hand.

They don’t speak to him, but they grab his head shoving it forward so fast it leaves him dazed.

He hears buzzing and something touch the back of his neck, then going up his head.

They were shaving his head, he pulled in the straps keeping him held down.

The person didn’t look at him and he moved in front of him shaving off his bangs.

They didn’t exchange words, he grunted at the person when the clippers came too close.

The person roughly grabs his jaw forcing him still, all he can do it take it, and once done the person leaves Shoto works his jaw trying to get the pain out.

The doors are opened again and two people enter the room, undoing the straps ripping out needles.

They haul him up like he weighs nothing.

He tries to stand but his legs give, when was he walking last? He wonders.

They bring him to a random room stripping him of his clothes, they throw him to the ground taking a hose and cranking the water, the water is freezing and it’s like a jet hitting his body.

It doesn’t hurt but its enough to move him back at the force.

He’s left coughing up liquid gagging and panting by the end.

He’s not done when they haul him up again, they shove a shirt and pants on while he’s still trying to recover.

Pretty soon they’re dragging him out again bringing him to a random place different then the one before, and throwing him to the ground.

The impact his head makes with the floor is heard through the room.

He flips over placing his hand to his head, it comes away bloody.

He doesn’t care, he pushes himself into the farthest corner of the room, making himself as small as possible.

He stays that way for some time. He can’t remember anything, and words won’t happen.

At some point another person walks in, a woman, she’s holding food.

She’s much nicer than the others placing in front of him gently smiling weakly.

“Eat, you’re going to need it,” she whispers pushing the tray forward.

He doesn’t know what’s in the bowl, but he’s not sure if he wants to take anything from it.

“Please eat,” she says again, softly.

He does so uncurling a little and grabbing the bowl and spoon awkwardly.

The stuff doesn’t taste like anything just cold slop for lack of better words.

He eats then curls back up the woman nods and leaves.

He rests his head on his knees, starting to doze off.

Then the doors open and the men from before come in.

They don’t see him for a moment as he pushes himself farther into the corner.

But they eventually see him and march over hauling him up by the collar of his shirt.

He whimpers when the shirt pulls tight against his neck.

They shove him forward on weak legs that barely know how to walk.

They’re basically holding him up at this point as he can’t walk on his own.

They take him to another room, this one bigger.

It has equipment in it, lots of the stuff.

They toss him to the floor again but he’s able to catch himself a little more gracefully this time so he doesn’t hit his head.

They stand guard as another man walks in with a sneer plastered on his face.

“Stand up,” he barks.

He tries to getting his legs under him, they give out again.

“I said get up idiot, when I tell you to do something I expect you to,” the man growls stepping forward and hauling him up on shaking legs.

He manages to stay standing, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to properly walk.

“Turn,” the man says.

He blinked, he wasn’t sure what he meant.

“I said turn,” the man repeated, using a hand to motion to what he wanted.

He turns around.

“You boys cleaned it right?” the man says turning to them.

They both nod.

“Good, it's going to need another one after.” The man says, he can hear the smile in it.

The men nod and leave the room.

The person from before walks circles around him for a moment, looking him up and down.

“You need to learn to listen, or you’re not going to last, you’re not human, not here, you’re a tool at our disposal, it’ll do you well to remember that, you need us to survive.” The man growls into his ear.

He doesn’t understand some of the words but he can insinuate the meanings.

“This is going to be your home for the foreseeable future, we need you healthy and ready,” the man says.

He looks around.

“Your training will be hard. And there will be no room for failure, if you do fail you’ll be punished,” the man says circling him.

He watches him, heart pounding in his chest.

He wasn’t expecting it when he got shoved from behind so he lost of footing.

He falls face first onto the ground, he felt blood coming from his nose but didn’t feel any pain.

“That’s the kind of thing you’ll need to expect, no one here is going easy on you, stand up,” the man says.

He stands, it’s easier this time, like his muscles are already stronger.

“Good, you’ll be spending 14-16 hours here a day, the rest of the time you’ll he either eating or sleeping, there will be no breaks here. You’ll have to adapt quickly, it's what you’re made for.” The man says still circling him like he’s pray.

He doesn’t move, just follows him with his eyes.

“Stand up straight, don’t slouch, arms straight by your sides, legs together, eyes forward,” the man says.

He does his best to follow the instructions.

“Straighten your back,” the man says hitting the back of his head with something.

He straightens up again.

“This is how you’ll stand when in presence of anyone here, if you’re caught standing in another manner besides this you will be punished, understood?” he says.

He nods.

“Good, let’s get started,” the man says.

Chapter Text

The training was brutal.

He’d barely figured out walking when the man had him running.

He’d run for hours at a time, if he stopped then he’d be hit.

It was rough, but he managed.

Sometimes he had to take the punishment head on when his body simply couldn’t keep going.

He thinks the worst punishment they’ve doled out was the electricity.

They’d beat him with electrified sticks, it made his body jolt, and his heart feel funny.

As far as the punishment went, the standing at attention one was easiest, he’d just stand at attention for several hours, and while it wasn’t easy it was better then the alternative.

Running for several hours straight right after being unable to walk also wasn’t easy, he was slow, and the person training him wasn’t having slow, if he slowed down even to breathe he’d be hit.

The hitting wasn’t gentle either, it had put stars in his vision on more then on occasion.

He was littered with bruises, ones that he couldn’t feel, part of him knew it should hurt, that the hits should hurt more.

But they just didn’t, they hit him and it hurt at the time, a little, but not too bad, it was bareable.

Then he’d be thrown in his room and left for the night.

They threw him some food sometimes, just a bottle of protein shake. It was chalky, and thick, but it was all he had to eat.

He’d sleep a few hours then they’d come and drag him back to training.

The training only got more brutal over time.

They started him lifting weights, but not how one would expect, they had him lifting almost his own weight immediately.

On several occasions he’d drop the bar onto himself, on one occasion he felt something inside his chest crack, it hurt, but only for a moment.

They set him back up, they kept at this for hours, three hours of weights, three hours of running, everyday, push ups, pull ups, rinse and repeat for a total of fourteen hours a day.

By the time the day came to an end he was exhausted, barely able to hold himself up, then they’d take him to the shower and hose him down taking glee as they sprayed his face leaving him chocking and shivering with the icy water.

They dragged him back to his room then tossing him to the ground. Closing and locking the door.

He slept under the metal ‘bed’ they provided.

The next day was the same, and the one after that.

It went this way for who knows how long until he was running fast, lifting three or four times his own weight with relative ease.

Then they brought him to a different room.

This one was smaller, with lines on the ground.

He stood at the center trying to figure out what was happening.

Then he feels a shove, from behind forcing him to the ground.

The persons on top of him now, slamming his head forward.

Before he can even get his bearings his hit with a kick to the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs.

“Get up,” the person yells.

He struggles to his feet only to be tackled to the floor again, he’d slamming backwards into the floor.

He didn’t know what to do, he was getting beaten and he didn’t know how to defend himself.

“You’ll never defend yourself if you can’t hold your own for a simple fight, get up,” his instructor yells.

The person lets him up, he stumbles to his feet, wobbling as he gets upright.

He grits his teeth watching the person getting into a fighting stance, he tries to match their stance.

The person lunges forward making an attempt to rush him, he manages to dodge the attack, but leaves his back exposed, he gets a swift kick to the back.

He growls lowly, getting frustrated with the beating.

The person straddles his back, wrapping an arm around his neck, forcing him into a chokehold.

It restricts his breathing until the edges of his vision gets dark.

“Let it up,” his instructor says.

He lays there for a moment only to be hauled up by his instuctor.

The world spins and his legs buckle, blood rushing to his head.

“Stand the fuck up,” the man yells in his face.

He tries to get his feet under him.

The world tilting and turning.

The man let’s go and he hits the ground again.

“You’re so weak, get the fuck up,” the man says.

Finally the world stops spinning enough for him to get on his feet.

His instructor sighs.

“That’s enough for today, first thing tomorrow we’ll be back here again. I expect a better performance next time.” The man says.

True to his word the next morning he is back in this room.

Getting beaten.

Day after day this happens followed by hours of training with running and weights.

It takes days for him to get good enough to pin his opponent for the first time, and even longer for him to beat them.

His instructor is angry with him.

After his hose down his instructor meets him in his room.

He grabs Shotos shirt slamming him into the wall, teeth grit face red.

“I expected better from you, but you’re fucking useless, can’t even beat someone after weeks of fucking work.” He says slamming him into the wall every couple words.

He throws him to the ground.

“I fucking own you, do better, because If you don’t I’ll fucking destroy you. Understand?” He says.

Shoto nods from the floor.

“Good, I expect you up and ready tomorrow, two on one, if you don’t beat them, you’ll be facing the consequences, I promise you that.” He says.

Shoto nods again.

Despair settles into his body, fear flowing through his veins like poison.

How was he supposed to hold his own against two people when he could barely do it against one.

Needless to say, he doesn’t impress his instructor.

He ends up getting a new punishment.

They bring him to a different room one with a post in the middle, they restrain him in the middle taking his shirt from him.

He can’t see anything but certainly feels it when something rips into his back. He almost makes a noise, but bites it back.

The thing hits him about twenty more times.

He decides after that, that he never wants to experience it again.

Chapter Text

The training lessons never changed, it was the same thing day in day out. He'd get up be hauled off to get beaten to a pulp, then be punished for being unable to fight.

It tooks four days for him to be able to hold his own in a fight against one of their trained men, his back was still open and raw from the hits after training ended and he was brought to the post.

Most days even if he didn’t get any punishment he still left with blood pooring down his back due to the poorly healing injury being torn back open.

This was also part of the punishment, if he could learn to defeat them with blood loss and open wounds then he would do it when he was in full health.

At the end of the day, he was still stronger then them, so it shouldn’t have taken as long as it did, he learned that if he could get a hold of them that he could lift them up and slam them onto the ground to immobilize them, it was a rather useful trick.

He'd made it impossible for one of them to breathe and ultimately won the match, he hadn’t meant to do that though.

His instructor seemed happy enough, and he didn’t get hit, so he counted it as a win.

He was able to consistently win after he learned that, being able to throw people around made it much easier. He learned other ways to win as well, sweeping the legs is effective, if he can get behind the person and hit them in the back to knock them over usually lead to his victory as well.

He wasn’t allowed to go after anyone outside of training, he had to let them have their way with him if they weren't training, because they were special apparently. It's why the gaurds that took him around places were allowed to do what they want, push him around, burn him while hosing him down, nearly drowning him in the process.

But he got to win when he was in training, that's what mattered, training he meant, if he could win his training he could rest.

It was a difficult thing to understand sometimes, but he obeyed of course, he always obeyed.

It didn’t hurt as bad when he obeyed them.

Then he was brought into the room again, the training one, but lead to a different area, with sharp items.

His instructor leads him to the middle of the room, he’s holding something in his hands, it doesn’t look like a weapon, it’s got a handle though, but also a strap.

“Today were going to start training, this is a sword, it straps to your back so you can use it and it not get in the way when you aren’t.” his instructor says.

He nods, standing with his back straight, just like he’s been taught.

He tells him to turn before slipping the strap over his head and shoulder, it’s on an angle on his back, it’s heavy as well.

The weapon should hurt his back, but thankfully it doesn't.

“What were going to do today is practice on combat with weapons, this won’t be the regular sword you’ll use, this is rather dull, so don’t get ideas about hurting someone, these are sharp enough to dent styrofoam, but won’t do much against a human,” he says.

He nods. The man lies though, he’s well aware that blunt force can do as much damage as a slice, why he knows that he’s not sure, but he knows it, he also knows to listen though, if this sword wasn’t meant to slice, then he would listen.

His instructor, leads him forward, taking another sword from nearby, he shows him how to swing, it takes him a number of tries the man in front of him getting more frustrated by the second.

He eventually gets the hang of swinging, and then his instructor aims at him, expecting him to defend himself, to put the sword up, anything, but he only receives a hit to the head that send him to the ground.

He blinks, confused, he hadn’t been expecting the sudden attack, he stays on the ground for too long apparently.

“You should’ve seen that coming, get up,” his instructor says.

He gets to his feet picking up the sword.

They start fighting again, he tries to prepare for the attack again, but isn’t and doesn’t defend, only gets hit to the leg.

They keep this up for days, he practices on the dummies, in a simulator, he practiced defending himself.

They spent hours and days at it, then they’d go run for more hours, and lift weights, then he’d go and get hosed down, and get his food.

It was just a cycle, every day, every single day.

The sword is heavy, his instructor is too good, there’s no strategy to his attacks, just attack after attack, no patterns for him to be able to predict.

Then his body is tired after spending so many hours after sword training doing the rest of his training.

He doesn’t want to complain, he has it good, he hasn’t been punished too badly for his poor performance, his back has healed a little, and he is improving, he’s getting to defend himself a little, every swing doesn’t land on him, he’s even gotten a few on his instructor.

Those moments are few though, it’s still mainly him getting beaten. But he can count on one hand how many times he’d managed to lay a hand, or sword on his instructor, and it was those few times were the same times he seen a small smile on his instructors face.

Now and then he’d even knock over his instructor during training, thats not until days in, and just fluke events.

For some reason he doesn’t want anyone to train with him when he’s using his weapons, maybe it was too dangerous, maybe it was a trust thing, he didn’t know, he didn’t really care, all he cared about was getting through his days. No matter what was thrown, or swung, at him.

Chapter Text

Eventually he’d gotten used to using his sword, he got used to the intense training.

Then he’d gotten to the training room and his instructor was standing there holding something, it was a device with what looked like hooks, strapped to something he didn’t recognize, it had a line on it as well.

“This is a grappling hook, you’ll use this with your sword, it allows you to lower down buildings as well as up them, they can be used to attack people as well.” the man says.

He steps closer to him, grabbing his arm roughly.

“Now point it at the railing up there, then press this button to eject the hook.” he says.

He nods pointing his arm at the rail and pressing the button, the hook fires and sends him backwards with the force of it.

He hits the mat while the hook hits the wall, it returns to him then.

“Get up,” his instructor says as he blinks, confused.

“Try again.” he says firmly.

He stands and points his arm to the railing, this time he’s ready for the recoil, the hook still misses though, he thought he was better at this.

The hook retracting startles him and nearly sends him to the ground again, it was too fast.

He looks to his instructor, face blank.

He makes a motion with his hand to continue.

He points again, this time the hook wraps around the pole, then he starts to pull him forward, jerking his arm and pulling him, he fights it for a moment but eventually lets it drag him up.

His foot slips on the way up the wall, and sends him swinging into it, he ends up being dragged by one arm up the the end of the hook where it manages to unravel itself, it drops him to the floor.

He grunts when he hits the ground, head ramming into the floor after, seeing stars for a moment.

“Get up,” his instructor says, hes standing above him, he looks angry.

He gets to his feet.

“This should be easy at this point you’re strong enough, use your brain.” the man says.

He nodded.

He pointed his arm at something again, hitting the target, he walks with it before using the wall to walk up, he jumps the rail in time with the hook coming back to him.
Once he was up he loooked to his instructor.

“Now get back down, there’s a button on it allow you to repel.” he calls.

he looks around for something to hook to.

He sees the rail above him, shooting up at it.

He quickly realizes the repeling is not easy, he loses his footing several times, by the time he gets the hang of it his nose is bleeding.

His instructor watches, face pinched in annoyance at his faliure.

Once he gets it he can repel easily, and climb the walls.

“Finally, now, you see that bar in the ceiling, swing off it. Go up the wall, then swing to the other balcony.”

He nods, he sees the button that auto retracts the hook.

He shoots the hook at the bar where he’d started, then up the wall.

Swinging is suprsingly easy, using all his prior experience to swing, he only misses twice before getting the hand of it.

It takes two days for him to become more effective at it.

They train like this for days, he learns to use the hook for attacks, using the test dummies to destroy using the hook to shoot through the chest.

Slowly they introduce more gear theres gloves on his hand one with claws, he uses it to rip through skin, drawing massive amounts of blood when hitting certain areas.

He gets boots the have spikes on good for grip, and for kicking.

He never wears these all at once.

He spends days learning each of the weapons inside and out.

He learns each of them, his sword, the claws, the hook, boots.

The last thing he’s exposed to his his sheild, used on the opposite side of his grapple hook, it looks like a small box in his arm.

“Press your palm, it has a button on it to eject it.” his instructor says.

When he does he hears a loud whirring noise as it ejects, its sharp, and light blue.

“It’s also an electromagnetic field, it can be used to electrocute, cut, and protect.”

Before he has time to react his instructor swings something at him, hitting him square in the chest, it sends him backwards.

He knows not to strike him with his shield, he can protect himself, but he can’t strike him.

He stands up, preparing to protect himself before being hit again.

“You’re slow, sloppy, you should see this coming, heros wont back down, they wont go easy, you need to expect this, expect the hits, protect all your angles,” his instructor says, swinging with every few words.

He can barely get a moment to protect himself.

He suddenly realizes there a pattern to the attack, chest, back, legs, head, in that order.

Its at this point that he’s able to use the shield, raising it up to his chest, the strike is hard, sending him reeling, but he gets the hand of it, and is able to protect himself.

His punishment for being unable to protect himself is the injuries the cover his body.

Slowly he gets to the point that he can protect himself using speed, seeing the area that he swings, he protects himself, then he learns to attack with it, it’s suprisingly easy to take the dummies heads clean off with the shield.

He spends time again at this his instructor doesn’t seem happy with the slow speed.

He's trying his best to get better, the long days of training, and very little sleep dont help.

“Now that you’re finally able to use your tools there’s one more this i want to show you, but that will be tomorrow.” his instructor says before handing him off to the gaurds again, and turning away from him, he barely sleeps that night, wondering what the new punishment will be for when he fails.

Chapter Text

When running on very little sleep with the intense training he was forced to do, it made for a very rough day.

So when he was hauled from sleep and out of his room he knew it was going to be a bad day.

But what could he do? It wasn’t like there was any escape for him.

So he sucked it up and tried to at least look awake, maybe then the man that enforced this struggle would let him rest he had to succeed.

He was brought to another different area, this one looked very different than his usual training room.

And of course, there was the only man he came into contact with outside of the gaurds that dragged him around.

He was always there.

“This new trick is something that will only be used if absolutely necessary, if it comes to a matter of using it or being taken, you’ll use it, understood?” he says.

He nods.

“Good, you have the ability to create water, using your hands.”

He blinks.

“You can manipulate temperature, heat with your left, cold with your right.”

He nods.

“Put your hands together like this,” the man says, putting his hands together, palms together, fingers straight.

He does the same.

“Good, now heat up your hand, and cool the other, using the condensation in the air youll cool it enough to make it condense, it’ll allow you to shoot either freezing or boiling water, you can use it as a trick, and a protection tactic.”

He tries to make his hands cool down while warming the other to do as his instructor says, but nothing appears to happen.

He tries again, heeding the same result.

“You’re not trying hard enough, you have to push yourself,” his instructor growls.

He tries, all he can make happen is steam.

It's a step in his opinion, but the smack he gets to the back of his head tells him otherwise.

“Again,”

He tries again, this time icicles apear, he has to shake them off his hand.

Couldnt he use the ice as a weapon?

“Again,” he’s yelled at.

He tries, and tries, and tries, but it all heeds the same results, either steam, or ice. It doesn’t make sense, he’s supposed to be able to create water, but it doesn’t work.

He growls in frustration only to be struck hard in the back, it sends him forward.

He's pinned to the ground.

“I’m giving you one more chance to get this right, and if you don’t, then you’re going to find out.” he says.

He allows him back up, he places his hands together, focusing all his energy on making water happen.

Nothing happens, the steam rises.

His stomach plummets, the back of his shirt is grabbed, theres a growling sound beside him.

His instructor punches numbers into a keypad and doors slide open to a sterile smelling area, theres a chair in the center of the room, it his straps and devices next to it, there are other people in the room, they all look his way.

He's thrown into the chair, the straps automatically tightening, two around his ankles, at his knees and waist, his chest, wrists, elbows, and biceps.

He's held completely still as the people approach him, he squirms in his bonds, trying to slip his wrists out of the straps.

His instructor leaves him. The door sliding shut as the strange people close in on him.

They don’t say anything as they twist his arm to get access to his elbow, they having something sharp.

They position it in his arm.

They press a button at the end of it, he feels something cold enter his body.

Then it gets warmer, like it’s burning him from the inside out.

Sweat prickles along his neck, his veins feel like they're disintegrating. His jaw is clenched, his teeth feel like they’re getting crushed.

He lets out a scream, yanking the straps, they’re made of something unbreakable, no matter how hard he pulls nothing happens.

Tears flood his eyes, fingers digging into the armrest of the chair.

Eventually he feels his conciousness leave him.

When he wakes up again he’s still in the chair, his insides feel like they’re unfire.

The people in the white coats are still there, writing notes.

They have another one of the sharp objects.

They push it into his arm, something warm fills his veins.

He feels the world spinning, his stomach twisting.

His stomach heaves, stomach acid burning it’s way up his throat, spilling onto his chest, his limbs feel fuzzy, his brain feels heavy with fog, he’s so tired, his body heavy.

The door slides open, his instructor is standing in the door, disgusted at the state of him.

“It’s had enough,” he sighs.

They let the straps go, but he cant move.

“It’s not going to fit to train for a few hours I'd like you to know, but we got some good notes.” someone says.

“He’ll be fine.” his instructor says, he’s covered in vomit and sweat, perhaps urine.

“Get up,”

He tries, his limbs are heavy, too heavy to move.

His instructor stomps forward, grabbing the back of his shirt.

He drags him out of the seat, to his feet, his knees give out, he hits the floor.

He doesn’t realize until hes being hauled up until he’s mid motion, the change sends his stomach doing flips, he gags, more stomach acid ripping his throat to shreds.

“Get it cleaned up and back to his room.” his instructor says.

He's dragged away, head hanging, trying to not vomit again.

They lay him down to wash him.

It’s the longest wash he’s had yet.

They drag him back to his room throwing him to the ground.

He stays like that, slowly regaining feeling in his limbs, enough to drag himself to the corner, he curls into himself, breathing shakily.

He closes his eyes, trying to sleep.

He decides that night, that this was his least favorite form of punishment.

Chapter Text

It took him three more days to learn to make water happen, three days of creating the wrong thing and being dragged off to the room with the chair.

They injected him with things that made his insides burn, made him so unbearably dizzy, made it feel like almost every touch was too much, three days of them running these experiments on him.

Then he made water happen and he breathed a sigh of relief, finally.

“About fucking time, this shouldn’t have taken as long as it has.” His instructor says giving him a shove, it hurts, his body still recovering from the last injection that made it feel like his muscles were being ripped apart.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even make a sound, he didn’t want his instructor to think he is weak, it leads to more punishment.

But he’s finally got it he can make water happen, can use it like a jet, he can freeze things using icy water and make water got enough to melt skin.

He knows that this is for limited use, for only drastic measures.

But now that he knows how to do it, he doesnt have to go back there.

It's only then that he goes back to the old training room, in front of him stood all the gear he’d learned to use, along with a pair of baggy pants, and a long sleeved black shirt with what looked like armour for his torso.

“Get changed.” his instructor says.

He nods and does as he’s told, the pants first, then his boots, tied tightly so they hug his ankles, the shirt and armor next, after that comes the sheath for his sword, his grapple hook and sheild, then his gloves.

He turns to his instructor, back straight, eyes straight forward.

“Good, this is when real training begins, as you can likely tell, this equipment is quite heavy, in comparison to your normal dress, you’ll continue normal training, but with this gear, that includes, running, hand to hand, weights, agility, and obstacles, running, agility, and obstacles will be trained all together now.” his instructor says.

He nods, ready for whatever the man in front of him throws at him.

The gear is heavy, but he gets used to running with it, he’s fast still, faster than most.

It gets easier, running with his gear on, then they start with the obstacles, it’s significantly harder, jumping with what must be twenty to thirty pounds of gear weighing him down.

He trips and gets knocked over constantly, the ground keeps moving with him on it, he gets hit with objects.

Its not until his tenth time getting knocked over that he sees the poles above him.

Mid run he launches his hook, it wraps around the pole and he swings himself up and over the wall that was mere inches away from taking him down for the eleventh time.

Suddenly it all makes sense, he needs to use everything on his person to perfect this, he is able to roll, jump, swing, he uses his shield to knock things out of the way.

Eventually he got the hang of it, can do it with ease.

Then the hand to hand with both the dummies and people, he can hit and scratch, use his shield to protect himself, but he’s not allowed to intentionally maim or kill his opponent.

He won of course, he swept the legs out from under many of the people he was up against, hits to the head using his shield.

It wasn’t hard, most of the time that is, there were some occasions when he’d get caught off gaurd and gets pulled down by the sword.

This happens very few times, but his instructor makes sure he knows what happens if he loses.

When he’d messed up too many times he’d been dragged away, arms tied behind his back and thrown into a dark room, no food, no hose down, nothing, he’d been left in there for two days at one point because he messed up two times, each time he messed up meant the amounts of time he was to spend in that room.

Once he's to the point that he consistently beats everyone he’s up against he starts training for a meeting with a group of people that are supposed to be evaluating his skills.

They start a intense regimine, in another room, this one filled with chairs, there's balcony's, and poles, in the middle theres a single dummy, when he looks around theres more, one on either side of the balcony, and one to the side, in the far corner.

“I want you to use this area, using every one of your tools to take it out, I don’t care how you do it, but I'll be watching, and if you don’t use on of the tools, then there’ll be consequences.

He nods, preparing for the fight.

Something buzzes, and he snaps into motion, rushing forward, tackling it to the ground, claws ripping clean through the dummy, he using his hook to launch himself into the next one, using his shield to roll as well as slice into the next one, swinging around again running against the wall, and unsheathing his sword, he poises it to attack, slicing it to decapitate the thing.

He uses his hook to throw himself into the ground, rolling so he lands on his feet.

He breathes out, looking to his instructor, who simply nods.

“Again,” he says, then the ground opens and more dummies slide into place.

He does it again, and again, as he does with all his other training, spending days upon days honing his skills.

Eventually they get to a method that works best, one that he perfects easily thankfully.

It means he spends less time being hit with the whip, or locked in the room, getting injected with random things, doing it right made everything hurt less.

Then one day he walks into that very same room, and there sitting beside his usual gear is a helmet.

Chapter Text

He quickly realized the helmet was the worst part of his gear.

It was heavy, it felt too tight, breathing was hard, it made it hard to see.

There were little screens in the red lenses.

The antenna made it awkward to distribute the weight, even though it had two.

And he could barely see anything.

“You better get used to wearing that now, because it’s going to be on constantly now, Every time we train you’ll wear it. I’m the only one with the key to take it off as well.” His instructor says.

He heaves a breath, it was so hard to breath in the thing.

It made training one hundred times harder, again he couldnt see, it was all blindspot.

“Stay still,” his instructor says.

He stills himself. He knows his instructor is moving, but his hearing is muffled.

He tries to look around, using just his eyes.

He jumps when he feels hands on his neck, then the neck of the helmet tightens it’s almost choking. The task of breathing gets easier though.

“This helmet can only be unlocked by me, understood? Good, that means that you have to come back to me to get it off, it also means that if something were to happen to you they wouldn’t be able to get it off.”

He nods, he didn’t have plans on leaving.

“I’m aware that your senses are dampened right now due to the helmet, we’ve tested it thoroughly though, theres things to help it.” he says, he sounds like he’s on his left.

Something clicks in his ear and his instructors voice booms in his ear.

“This is so you can hear me when working.”

He nearly covers his ears at the volume of it.

“Good to see it works. This should help too.”

Theres a high pitched static in his ears, the lights brighten, he can hear electricity buzzing in his ears, when his instructor walks his footsteps ricochet in his ears.

He screws his eyes shut, trying to block out the stimulation.

“Look at me,” a voice bellows, it slams into his ears and feels like a bullet going through his brain.

The high pitched noise gets louder, the electricity is louder, everything is too loud.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he feels his nerve endings buzzing under his suit, he can feel every piece of clothing and weaponry that touches him.

His knees give way, a weak scream ripping from his throat, now on the ground, everything was too much his hands go to his ears, but only meet the metal of the helmet.

He reaches for the edge to the helmet, his hands shake too much to get a good grip on it.

Then it stops, the sounds get drowned out again.

“Get up,” someone says, he gets to his feet again, albeit shakily.

“You’re going to get used to this helmet weather you like it or not.” his instructor says, he barely hears it, barely hears anything until the static starts again.

It takes everything in him not to go completely weak at the stimulation.

It takes him days to get used to the damn thing, he cant see so he cant predict movement, the helmet helps him see in the dark though. Makes everything brighter.

“You’ll work mainly at night, so it was a requirement of the helmet, use the helmet as a tool it amplifies sounds to help you, everything is darker, and quiter at night, you need to be able to hear everything around you, every footstep, every whisper, every, single, noise, if not, it could be life or death,” his instructor says one day prior to starting training.

He uses those words literally it makes his training easier, the antenna picks up every noise, down to a pin drop, and even though it’s extremely overwhelming and takes a long time to get used to, he’s getting there, getting used to his tools and training with it, running had been harder, not due to the weight, but being unable to see the treadmill.

Eventually he got used to it though.

It was days of extra training but he was getting used to it.

He would also get used to his name, the one his instructor had given him the same day he got his helmet.

Heatwave.

(Instructors POV)

Marco heaved a sigh, this training was taking too fucking long.

It had been months wiping the stubborn mans memory, months of training, and it was bordering a year of his capture.

“We need results marco,” his manager says, he’s been breathing down his neck for months now.

“I know, I can only go as fast as progress will allow.” he growls out.

“You estimated two months of training, you’re on your fifth month,”

“I know Aika, I know okay, I promise this time it’s almost done,”

“Good, because my bosses are scheduled to see it in a week, and it needs to be ready, they’re the ones funding this keep in mind, you told me that this would be done and they’re getting impatient.” his boss says again.

He sighs.

“Look this should all be done soon. Within the week.” he says.

“Why has this taken as long as it has.”

“Because it’s stubborn, it’s been hard to break, hard to rebuild, hard to teach, it doesn’t listen, I've tried every punisment that hasn’t cause disfigurement, and none of it seems to be effective.” he says tiredly.

“Try harder,”

“I’m doing the best that I can, keep in mind that this was a pro hero at one point. Not anymore of course, but it takes time to break that kind of will, and it’s something breed in most of the time.” he tries to reason.

“I don’t care, you have another week, and if this falls through because it’s not ready then you’ll be out of a job, I promise you that.” his boss says, standing to his full height, about six foot eight.”

“Understood sir,”

Chapter Text

He stood stock still as his helmet was placed over his head, sword strapped to his back, and shield and grapple hook strapped to his arms.

“We’ve talked about this heatwave, I swear to fucking good if you mess this up, you’re dead, and that’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” Whoever was getting him prepared growled into his ear.

He nodded his understanding.

“Good, here’s what’s going to happen: there’s going to be many major people here to see you, so you need to behave, they will want to touch you, they will want to assess your skills, so there will be a demonstration against a dummy, of course. I expect the highest results.”

He nods again.

He stands still as the taller man circles him like he’s prey.

“Stand up straight,” the man barks.

He does so standing as straight as he can.

“Legs apart, we’ve been over this a thousand times.” He says, shoving him and sending him to his knees.

“Stand up, if you can’t take one, messily push you won’t survive one mission.”

He growls lowly, moving quickly to his feet and turning.

He pulls his fist back only to be grabbed by the shirt and slammed to the floor. The air is getting knocked from his lungs.

“Wanna try that again?” the man says.

He shakes his head no.

“That’s what I thought, now get up.” The man says, getting off him and allowing him to stand.

“You're on in five, remember, best behavior, if I have anything but the best, they’ll never find your body.”

He nods his understanding, frowning behind his helmet.

Once he steps onto the stage, he stands at attention; there are a lot of people watching.

All eyes are on him.

The person from before stands beside him, connecting a wire to a microphone next to his ear.

“Attention!” he says loudly. Heatwave winces at the volume behind the mask.

The room falls silent, and eyes land on him.

His arms at his side, back straight, legs parted.

“This is what you came here to see, the work that you funded and supported for the past six months.” He says, gesturing to Heatwave.

“It doesn’t look like much.” Someone in the audience says.

“It’s not the look that matters; it is its abilities.”

“And what are those?”

“It can lift almost four times its weight, it is trained for stealth, so it can run in silence, and its hand-to-hand combat skills are off the charts. His pain tolerance is higher than any other creature, and with its costume, it can withstand a bullet and barely feel a thing.”

“Is that not dangerous?”

“No, due to the fact that if it is a success, it will be reproduced, their quirks make next to no difference in terms of quality, it actually has very little use of quirks. If something happens to it, it’ll be replaced.”

“What about his costume? What does that entail?”

“Well, its quirk is temperature-based and very flashy, we’ve made it so it won’t need it. On one hand, it’s equipped with a shield and claws, on the other, a grapple hook for swinging, its boots have spikes on them for damage when kicking, and if in a scenario has to use its quirk, its sword is razor sharp, can cut through human flesh and even bone with little resistance. Its helmet has a transmitter, which allows us to speak to it. The eyes are for night vision, it also can’t come off without a special key, unless a tremendous amount of force is put on it. Its entire costume is also padded for any falls or hits it takes.”

“So it's a ninja?”

“For lack of a better word, yes, but it's closer to a better nomu, it has its own thoughts and desires, burns through training along with discipline, it learns to simply obey. It's loyal to us and us alone. Also, we’re using a special form of trigger that will enhance all its current abilities, but will make it so wound up that if not used, it will get more and more aggressive.”

“What happens if it runs? Or is it captured? Does it not have information that could bring down the organization?”

“It won’t run. We give him everything he needs to survive. If it's captured, it won’t be able to leek anything because it can’t speak, likely can’t even comprehend what we’re saying. All it knows is it needs to obey. Due to its lowered thought process, it will be reliant on its handler.”

The audience hums.

“Also, through its helmet, we can amplify his senses to one hundred times; only the person with the key card has control. Basically, it will send it into severe sensory overload, leading to aggression. It will do anything to have it reduced.”

“Can we see a demonstration of its abilities?” Someone from the crowd asks.

“Of course, it was planned.”

Heatwave's heart hammers against his chest as he’s led to a glass room. There are four dummies in different spots. He knows this setup.

He’s done this before.

The clock starts, and he rushes forward, tackling the dummy to the ground, snapping its neck. The next one is up higher, he launches his grapple up at it, hitting it and dragging it down the floor.

He searched for a second for the third one, which was with his sword. He removed it as he ran, and as he approached it, his sword moved on an angle that took its head and left arm clean off.

It’s not until the last one that he screws up, it’s up higher, and he used his hook to get there, he was supposed to use it to swing around and kick the dummy,y let go and land on his feet.

He got the dummy but got hooked on the railing, so he ended up back-first on the ground fifteen feet below. It didn’t hurt, but there was suddenly no air in his lungs.

He's back on his feet in a second.

Shit.

He stares hard at the floor.

As soon as they walk off stage, he’s grabbed and thrown to the floor, followed quickly by a swift kick to the stomach.

“How could you mess up like that?! In front of all those people!” the man yelled.

He whimpers quietly, trying to cover himself.

“You’re damn lucky that we spent too much time and money on you to let your useless ass go.” The man sneers.

He doesn’t feel overly lucky.

Chapter Text

“This is your first mission,” his instructor says, shoving a picture in front of his face. There's a person on it. They're carrying guns, have a red cape, and what looks like a gas mask for a face.

“This is Snipe, he’s a pro hero, your aim is to take him out,” he says.

He understands, he can do that.

“He’s on patrol in the rough part of the city. We have your location at all times. So don’t get ideas,” his instructor says as he straps the last of his equipment on.

He knows all of this; they’ve been preparing for what must have been a week.

“This won’t be a hard mission, a good starter if you will, he’s an older hero now, bordering on retirement,”

He nods, he understands.

“Good, I won’t turn on your coms until we arrive, but you’ll have the helmet on,”

Another nod.

This is the first time he’ll have been outside the building since becoming aware.

His instructor is aware of this as he grips his upper arm and forces him through unknown halls.

He feels the air on his arms when they leave the compound through the roof. The wind is high.

His instructor tosses him into a helicopter, not allowing him to get his footing, before he’s able to sit. The area below him starts shaking, then lifting.

Panic fills his body.

“Sit,” his instructor says firmly.

He obeys, gripping the seat hard enough to break the leather beneath him.

The flight is quick, but it feels like an eternity to heatwave.

Eventually, they come to a halt on a rooftop.

“He’s somewhere in the vicinity, track him down, take him out.” His instructor says that before cranking the button in his helmet, everything roars to life, and he had to fight to not rip the helmet off.

“The helmet will get turned down when you return. Remember, I’m the only one with the key.” His instructor says, pushing him out the doors of the vehicle.

He was left standing alone on the roof watching the aircraft disappear into the night.

He looked around, every footstep, every breeze screaming in his ears.

The dark streets look more like daylight to him. The night vision helps, but it stings his eyes.

He crouched low, looking to the edge of the building, looking for something to hook to, perhaps swing to the next building. He knows what his target looks like.

Eventually, he comes to the conclusion that remaining atop the buildings would be better.

It doesn’t take too long; he basically jumps between buildings, scanning the ground below. Sometimes, using his grappling hook, he swings across when able, or swings across streets.

Then, he caught a glimpse of red, a cape.

He screeches to a halt above the target. He’s leisurely walking the streets. Unaware of the danger he’s in.

He puts his grapple out, ready to shoot, one eye closed, determination set on his face.

He watches, waiting for the hero to get in his crosshairs.

There’s a convenient pole between two buildings, which will allow him to swing into the hero.

He’s silent as he shoots his hook, leaping from the building into a fast swing, legs colliding with the hero, knocking them both into the alley across the street, exactly where he wanted the hero.

He unsheathed his sword, slashing the hero. They don’t have time to scream for help before their life is cut off. He watches as the blood seeps from the body; it had been easy, so easy.

It almost felt good to draw blood rather than have his drawn, to watch someone else’s blood drop onto the cold ground below. Watching the life seep out of the warm body, imagining the eyes go dull.

He almost feels the satisfaction, but part of him knows what he did was wrong, that he shouldn’t feel any satisfaction at this, that the feelings are sick.

He hears distant footsteps and approaching helicopter blades.

He looked up, watching as the aircraft landed on the roof above him.

He shoots his hook to the building, propelling himself up.

He stumbles into the aircraft, the sounds dull, and he almost hits his knees.

“That took too long, Heatwave,” his instructor growls. Hauling him up and into a seat.

He looks to the ground; he shouldn’t have taken as long as he had.

“Next time, I won’t be so patient,” his instructor says.

He nods.

Their flight back is quiet; he’s wide awake, body wired from adrenaline from the kill.

By the time they get back to the lab, he’s antsy in his seat.

He’s not used to this much adrenaline flowing through his veins.

This instructor strips him of his gear.

He hands him over to the guards.

“Get him cleaned, and bring him to the lab; the doctors want to test trigger on him.”

The guards nod, escorting him away.

He knows the routine by now, can walk himself to the shower room.

But he’s not allowed to wander the building on his own.

He almost sighs; he’s got so much energy.

Just the thought of having to go to the lab, only to be strapped down and injected with something, makes him antsy.

Once in the shower, they strip him as they usually do and crank the heat.

It hurts, but not as much as usual.

He knows his skin will be raw, but if he can’t feel it, then it doesn’t matter.

His ears are still ringing from the helmet, and when the water hits his face, it’s a shock; he’s left choking on the scalding water.

Once he can breathe, he realizes that the waters have been shut off.

They toss him a towel and clothes, and he’s quick to switch into them.

They lead him out of the room and he realizes what he’s being led to; he realizes that he doesn’t want to go. For the first time, he fights back against the guards, he’s stronger than them.

Chapter Text

He’s stronger than the guards, that’s clear, that’s been made clear, he’s made to be stronger than them, and he's known that for a long time.

So as he tackles the guards, even though he knows better, he’s able to knock them around.

“Stop!” his instructor says. He screeches to a halt.

The guards stand up again.

“Here.” His instructor says, anger written on his face.

He steps towards him slowly.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he says.

He picks up the pace.

He’s within arm’s reach when his grabbed and thrown into the wall behind him.

“You know better than this, this behaviour will be punished.” His instructor says.

He nods.

His instructor growls, gripping his arm, hauling him off.

He knows better than to fight him; it’s not worth it.

He only realized where they were going once they were in front of the lab doors.

They slide open, and he starts to fight him. He remembers the last time he was here. His veins hurt from the phantom memories of the injections.

Before he thinks, he opens his mouth

“No!” he yells.

It startles him; he’s never done that before, never even knew he could. Was that even him?

He’s breathing heavily, his instructor looks at him, he's got a look in his eye, shock, his instructor didn't think he could do that either.

“What did you just say?”

“No,” he repeats, quieter this time.

“That’s what I thought you said,”

He swallows thickly.

They pivot, and he’s marched out of the room.

He was shocked, and his instructor listened.

He’s relieved not to have to go back there.

But they aren’t going towards any rooms that he knows.

The guards flank him, smirking.

They grip his arms; they clearly know something.

They turn into a room, this one is different then the lab chair, but similarly designed, the straps are still there, but metal, then he thinks and he knows where he is.

It’s the same room he woke up in.

“No, please, no!” he says, tears stinging his eyes.

His instructor whirls on him, gripping his face.

“You can’t speak, shouldn’t even be able to, something went wrong. So we have to try again.”

He’s thrown into the chair, the guards holding his arms down.

Straps are being placed down.

He struggles in the restraints.

“Open up,” his instructor says, and something comes down in front of his face.

He refuses until his face is grabbed again, pressing on his face, forcing his jaw to relax.

His mouth opens involuntarily, and something is squeezed into his mouth down his throat. It solidifies almost immediately, and he can’t even open his mouth; breathing is a challenge, trying not to gag. He almost wishes it were whatever was holding his mouth shut before.

He feels needles piercing his skin, in his arms, legs, chest, everywhere.

“Enjoy,” his instructor says, turning something on, it forces something into him.

The lights are turned on.

He's held still, needles stinging, his body sensitive.

He feels drowsy.

He closes his eyes, tears trailing down his face.

He fights occasionally against the restraints holding him down.

It’s a losing game.

His mind's fuzzy.

He’s losing something; he can’t remember anything.

His name, what’s his name?

Where is he?

His brain feels like mush; that can’t be right.

He closes his eyes, letting the fog take over.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when the lights are on, stinging his eyes.

He recognizes his instructor.

He doesn’t say anything as the needles are removed, just glares at him.

Then he removes the thing from his mouth.

His jaw hurts, his throat hurts.

He closes his mouth with an audible click.

The restraints are removed, and he’s hauled out of his seat and into a standing position; his head swims at the sudden movement.

He’s hauled out of the room, stumbling.

He walks the halls, brought to the training room.

“Let's make sure you remember everything.”

He nods, and they go through the same training regimen as he’s been following for however long he’s been here.

He wonders what the point of this all is; whatever they did to him clearly worked, his brain still felt mushy.

He was tired and sore from all the needles in his skin. But it’s still easy to do all his training, which is good; he doesn’t train with his gear on this time, so he feels lighter and faster on his feet.

After a while, his instructor seemed satisfied, and he was carted off by the guards, three now instead of the usual two; one of them seemed young, probably not more than a few years of practice at the job.

The person had softer eyes than the other two. Blonde hair, relatively tall, and muscular.

He's still confident he could take him.

But unlike the others, he’s more gentle; he doesn’t really shove him around, he doesn’t speak to him just like the others, but he doesn’t rough him around.

When they shave his hair again, it’s not as rough they do it every other week, keeping it short.

They escort him back to his room, where his instructor gives him his supper, which consists of the usual gray shake.

He still doesn’t enjoy whatevers in it, it leaves a film in his mouth, and is chalky.

He eats it regardless because he doesn’t have much of another choice.

“Tomorrow you’re going to the lab, the doctors want to try something, it’ll make you faster and stronger again, it’s still in the testing phase, but it's an older drug really, just enhanced.” His instructor says.

He nods; he doesn’t want to go.

“Don’t even think about trying to fight the guards, remember, in training is the only time you lay hands on one of them, understood?” the man says.

He nods.

“Good, now get some rest, you have an early rise tomorrow.” He says

He nods as his instructor leaves the heavy metal door closing and the locks sliding shut.

He stares at the door for a moment, blinking, then spins and makes his way to the bed.

He lays down and allows sleep to drag him under.

Chapter Text

Waking up came sooner than he wished, the sounds of the metal locks sliding open has him up and on his feet in just seconds, his brain more alert and aware than the night before.

His instructor stood in the door, arms crossed behind his back.

“Ready?” he asks.

Confusion laces Shoto’s face usually; he was at least allowed to eat.

He nods, though, stepping through the door and into the hall.

The walk is short, but as he approaches, he remembers the talk last night; he’s not training, he’s getting the test done.

His heart hammers away in his chest, as if it’s trying to break through.

He considers fighting again, but the ordeal he just went through is more than enough to not act in it.

He sits in the chair, the restraints locked around his limbs.

“This is just a low dose of trigger, it’ll last about two hours before coming out of its system on its own, but it’ll only last an hour if it’s moving around and being active,” one of the people says to his instructor, who just nods in understanding.

“The higher the dose, the longer the effects will last, but it also brings more dangers; if too much is in its system and it can't move around, then it could kill him.”

“What's the most it can have without being fatal?”

“It really depends on the person, that's why it's still in testing. The prior version of the drug made the person nearly mindless if handled wrong, or just made the person overpowered, hard to manage. If we've done this correctly, it should be controllable, just makes it more desperate to be active, it enhances its senses as well, so with your device and trigger, it'll want to come back sooner.”

His instructor nods,

“Well, I'll retrieve it after the test is done; there will be a guard nearby,” his instructor says as he makes his way to the sliding doors,

He struggles in his restraints, realizing it was a fruitless struggle; the restraints wouldn’t budge.

The doctor approaches him, needle in hand.

He doesn’t say anything as he injects the liquid.

He can feel his sight sharpen; he feels so much more, feels the needle leave his arms.

He feels his muscles tighten, like a spring ready to burst.

He hauls hard against the restraints, and surprisingly, they snap, simply breaking. It makes him pause; that was a new development.

He uses the chance to spring out of the chair, ready to jump at the first person who tries to grab him.

He's done letting them have their way.

He can hear everything, without his helmet on, every breath of the people in the room, the buzz of electricity whirring away, it’s overwhelming but at the same to exhilarating.

He stands for a moment, no one approaches him, he’s dangerous, and they know it, good, he has control now.

Something hits his back and sends shocks through him, but it does nothing, like a mere static shock, then anything, certainly not enough to take him out.

He whirls around and jumps at the person,

Then he realizes what he’s doing, he can’t help, he won't, he’ll end up back in that cold dark room, that's the last thing he wants.

He stands there, muscles bound tightly in his body, too much energy, and he can feel himself twitch.

“Take it to the training room, take notes, see what we need to improve,” the doctor says. The two guards and the second doctor nod and lead him away, into the hall.

He feels sick, and everything is so bright.

He’s thankful for the quick walk, but he wants to run, wants to not be stuck walking like he is, he can feel his muscles twitching, it’s like his body is itching to move.

When the doors open, his instructor is already waiting for him.

He walks to the center of the room, ready to train.

“I want to test the drug, so just do your usual routine, and I'll time you.”

He nods, his instructor putting his gear on.

He hears the click of the timer and takes off like a spring.

His body is faster, freer than he’s ever felt it, like a bound string finally bursting.

As soon as he hits the wall, he’s jumping off, and swinging across the bar, his body reacting even before his brain registers it.

His brain feels electric with stimulation, his vision like an eagle's.

He lands on the floor next to his instructor, who clicks the stopwatch with a subtle nod. He did well.

They do it again, and again, and he doesn’t get tired for a long time, but once he does, it’s like a wall, and his legs go weak; he physically can’t hold himself up.

“Take it back to the lab, tell them that it was a success, and we'll give it a higher dose tomorrow and see how long it lasts.”

The guards nod and lift him up by putting their arms under his shoulders, allowing his instructor to remove his gear.

He's dragged away into the hall, head hanging down low, too tired to hold it up.

They don’t bother with the restraints in the lab, seeing he’s weak from the drug.

His instructor is there as well, looking at him; he almost looks proud, a foreign look for the man.

“The tiredness is normal for the drug; it heightens all its senses and makes it faster and stronger. It means that it burns more energy, like I said, the higher the dose, the longer the effects last.”

“Okay, so that was the lowest dose, and it lasted for an hour, and what happens if we give him the highest dose?”

“For its body weight and size, it would depend, I think it could take maybe four times the amount he had today and be okay, so about four hours, but that would have to be injected right before the mission, or it could have serious consequences.”

His instructor nods in understanding.

“We’ll test it on the next mission,” he says.

“Take it back to its room, hose it down first, make sure it eats,” his instructor says as the guards both haul him up.