Shattered minds (My hero academia)

Russian Roulette

Searing pain is the first thing he feels as the strands of consciousness wrap around his addled mind. His breathing is loud to his ears, as if echoing through the space around him. It made him excruciatingly aware of his own racing heart, beating against his ribcage like a cornered animal.

His thoughts falter as memories flood his mind, flashes of incomplete images; a puzzle his mind can't seem to solve. Harsh neon lights, still vivid in his head.

He remembers the cold, can still feel it if he concentrates enough as if he's still strapped to the icy metal table. Arms and legs thrashing against the restraints keeping him from moving. Keeping him from struggling, escaping his cruel captivity. Multiple Doctors flit around the room casually, whispers following their wake.

He should feel scared, he should be fighting against a crippling panic as it threatens to pull him into an endless abyss of doubt and fear. The heavy realization that he's not safe. Not in control.

He doesn't feel it. In fact, he feels nothing at all.

Blinking repeatedly, he waits for his eyes to adjust to the obscurity. The sound of clinking metal alerts him of the shackles wrapped tightly around his wrist, chaining him to the wall behind him. The manacles dig into his skin, scraping his wrists raw. He finds himself marveling at the pain, fascinated by the little bit of feeling he gets when he moves his wrists. He almost yearns for that little thread that ties him to the waking world. Proving that he is, in fact, still alive. Still feeling something. Anything at all.

It's with a mesmerizing kind of disassociation that he looks down on himself. Someone would even go as far as to describe it as bored, dispassionate as he takes in the numerous gashes and cuts that mare his pale skin. A myriad of colors decorates his body, blues, and purples mixing against swollen skin as if paint on a canvas. The tints ruminating the treatment they'd given him during his hours of captivity.

Raising a slow but steady hand towards his face, he's not surprised to find bandages wrapped around one of his eyes. The lack of depth in his vision made it clear that something was missing.

Abruptly, light filters into the room as the metal door creaks open. The brightness burns his eye, as if commanding him to shy away, to bow his head and hide. Nonetheless, he doesn't move. Instead, with searing eyes, he watches through the blurry spots in his eyesight as a man walks into his cell.

The man's gate is straight, confirming his military affiliation. Brown hair cropped close to his skull, dark, grey eyes serious despite the smirk that stretches his features.

"Ah, finally awake, then?" The man says the moment his eyes land on Izuku's crumpled figure on the floor. Amusement, sly and malicious, clear in his tone. "I was wondering if we'd have to use more forceful measures." When Izuku doesn't react, he continues. "I suppose you must be wondering what we did to you." Only silence greets his inquiry but it seems to only spur him on. A grin stretched his features into something almost cruelly proud. "Yes, that's what I expected. Well, if it's all the same to you, you can go ahead and follow me out of here."

As if on command, the shackles adorning his abused hands loosen their hold and open. Giving the camera hanging in the corner of the room a suspicious look, he walks after the man. He only has a moment to brace himself for the pain that erupts through his form with every move he makes.

He follows dutifully, only stopping when he encounters a reflective window as he follows the doctor. His reflection looks back at him, his eyes sweep over his matted green hair, the new bruises and injuries he's sustained. The sight of his face, however, makes him pause.

"Oh, silly me, did I forget to mention that? Well, go ahead then. "The scientist drawls. When Izuku doesn't give any indication of understanding, he elaborates. "Do I need to spell it out for you boy? Take the bloody thing off."