The world cracked into focus with the chaotic finality of a head-on collision with a brick wall.
Shrapnel pelted his reeling thoughts, leaving him floundering for purchase in the void.
Everything hurt.
Everything throbbed and pulsed and stung and oozed-
The air in his lungs was too hot. Too heavy and laden with the remnants of fire.
But none of this misery made sense.
He was dead.
He had to be.
And yet the impulse to breathe stubbornly remained.
'Lovely,' he thought and his lack of enthusiasm upon the discovery of his survival surprised him.
He groaned, entirely not ready to be alive yet but the moment the sound left his lips his jaw locked.
His body went rigid with a vicious jolt as a shock of electricity shot through him.
He lay there gasping and steadied himself.
Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reached for the epicenter of that new pain and found a collar with a device that pressed mercilessly into his neck.
A collar?
He continued to explore it blindly, but his fingers felt stiff and unruly and wrong.
Everything felt wrong.
He peeled open his eyes, having been fused shut by sleep, sweat, tears, and blood. It felt like they tore with the effort.
He winced then blinked the world regrettably back into focus.
His surroundings were stark white and oddly sterile.
But everything also seemed…fuzzy. His eyes weren't working properly.
He lifted his hands, trying to focus on something closer.
Katsuki stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
His fingers were burned so severely they were blackened, bits of bone peaking through the ruined flesh and muscle. It flaked as he moved, his powdered remains drifting off his hands.
These weren't hero hands.
These were the hands of a corpse. Someone who SHOULDN'T be alive.
His stomach churned and he dropped his arms to his sides.
Bad move.
His eyes stung but he gritted his teeth.
He was alive and that meant this wasn't over yet. There was a chance, no matter how stupid it was to hope for.
If he was breathing, he could still make it out of this.
He shook his head and regretted the motion immediately as nausea knocked a second time at his empty stomach.
He shifted, not entirely sure of his goal and drew the remains of his legs close.
He could see random objects burned into his skin, becoming one with him.
A faded label, a bottle cap, weed eater string, bird netting.
They were fused to his flesh like they belonged there, like they'd always been.
His unruly fingers picked at the remains until he jolted at the jingle and click of keys in a lock.
With little fanfare, the door to the hospital-esque room opened and a squat man in a lab coat stepped in, smiling a smile that was too wide for his face. He directed his smile at Katsuki and it felt like a threat.
Katsuki offered his finest glare then his eyes shifted to the shadow that stepped into the doorway.
Behind the man lumbered a creature with leathery yellow skin and a brain displayed proudly to the open air.
A Noumu.
It seemed docile, its beady, bulging eyes leering around the room, never settling, always roaming aimlessly, until it was given a goal.
The man straightened his lab coat then patted the noumu's arm kindly. "Put the patient on the table, Marcus..." The creature rumbled its ascent then hulked toward Katsuki.
Katsuki tried to get away, pushing away from the wall to claw backward, dragging his useless legs behind him.
It was pointless.
This couldn't be happening.
"Bakugou, Katsuki. Age: 15. Quirk, prior to nullification: Explosion. Lets see here-," the doctor flipped through the pages of who-knows-what on his clipboard and clucked disapprovingly. "Patient exhibits persistent agitation, oppositional defiance, a higher propensity toward violent outbursts, severe lack of impulse control, and ah, yes. Delusions of grandeur. What a shame."
Whatever nonsense the man was spouting didn't matter, barely even registered, as the noumu towered over him.
It was not a surprise that the creature had no concept of gentleness as it scooped Katsuki off the floor like one would trash, touching as little of him as possible but holding much too tightly.
It dragged him upright by his arm, staring at him with soulless eyes, both alive and yet, not. Then it grabbed his leg.
Katsuki wailed and was once again reminded of the shock collar but, compared to everything else, it was forgettable.
The careless pressure and friction on the burns stole his breath. He felt his consciousness grow taut, about to snap and plunge him back into the quiet blackness, but his luck was conveniently on vacation.
The noumu deposited him on an operating table, the cold metal momentarily soothing his wounds.
The creature didn't let go, instead keeping him pinned against the table as the man stepped up beside Katsuki.
"Don't worry, son, these conditions are curable. And this body? There are no limits to the improvements I can make." He smiled knowingly as Katsuki seethed, trying to pull away from him.
"There's no need to struggle. This'll happen, one way or another."
He didn't feel the needle enter his arm, but the syringe caught his attention as an amber fluid disappeared under his skin.
The effects were immediate.
His body went limp, utterly pliable under the doctor's hands but again, his consciousness remained stubbornly intact.
"People just don't understand people like us. Do they?" The man spoke as if he wasn't strapping a mortally wounded teen to an operating table with thick leather straps.
His calm demeanor did nothing to soothe Katsuki's nerves. His torso, his neck, his forehead, every plain of his body was so completely encased that, even without the drugs coursing through him, he doubted he'd been able to twitch his fingers.
"We're different. We don't fit the 'hero' mold. So, I figure, why try? We have to carve our own path. And THIS is the beginning of yours. You're going to do amazing things, Bakugou. Hell, you might even change the world. With my help of course."
Katsuki wanted to scream. To rip this man's disgusting head from his shoulders and use it as a soccerball.
"Fuck you-" Katsuki slurred, willing the shock to travel from his body into the metal table, but the circuit seemed content to begin and end within him.
"Manners, son," the doctor chidded then turned away, busying himself elsewhere.
Katsuki followed him in his periphery as metal instruments clinked inside sterile plastic casings, each ripped open, removed and set 'just so' on the bedside tray.
Katsuki strained to see them more clearly but between his fuzzy vision and his unruly body, he saw nothing.
"Now some would call my methods archaic," the smiling bastard said and brandished a tool that held a startling resemblance to an ice pick, "but those are the fools who forgot Moniz's research earned him the Nobel prize."
Katsuki stared at him, dumbfounded, the doctor seemed to take his expression as permission to continue.
"You see, reprogramming an inherently flawed brain is no simple task!" The doctor focused his goggled attention on sliding a nondescript ampule into the base of the pick. It clicked into place.
"Sure sure, there are other ways to gain a similar result. We could wait for the drugs to eat holes in your brain. Or I could remove parts of your brain entirely, but by golly, the lobotomy is almost an outpatient procedure!"
"No!" Katsuki screamed, muscles tensing against the restraints as another shock ran through him.
The man stuck out his lower lip in a childish pout that got lost in his ridiculous mustache. "Oh come now! We are going to make you a HERO! A hero this world actually needs. The first step's a doozy, I'll give you that, but it's my job to unlock your raw potential!"
It was like this man was trying to justify getting a second scoop of ice cream, not giving Katsuki's brain a good stir.
"And once this is all over, you'll even get your quirk back! WITH INTEREST!"
Dr. Garaki stepped closer, raising the stainless steel rod toward Katsuki's face.
"It's not even a textbook lobotomy! The point isn't to destroy, but to rebuild. See, look!"
The doctor held out a gloved hand and engaged a small dial on the handle. An opalescent material oozed thickly onto his palm from the pick then spread. However, as Katsuki watched, its movement seemed deliberate.
It pulsed, collecting itself into a lattice-work pattern then changed, quickly taking on the appearance of veins.
"This incredible substance will replace your active neural connections and allow you to unlearn all of your habits. A perfect, blank slate."
Katsuki strained against his leaden body. Hot tears flowed freely from his scarlet eyes and stung the skin of his cheeks. They laved over the smattering of burns, reminding him of his physical ruin.
"Don't cry, you silly thing. I won't leave you that way. Gods no! With training, you'll make new, stronger connections that will guarantee the success of your reprogramming."
This was a nightmare.
It had to be.
All of this.
But the truth was painful and cold and indifferent.
Just like the metal that rested for an eternal moment in the corner of his eye.
That single moment stretched on, like time had frozen just to add insult to injury, then the doctor moved the eyelid of his right eye, slipping a finger beneath the skin to gain access to the orbital socket.
Air squeezed from Katsuki's lungs in a panicked, voiceless wheeze as the doctor made eye contact with the blond and said, "take a deep breath for me, son."
The initial slide didn't hurt, the pressure in the socket increasing as he blinked frantically around the obstruction.
His body screamed wrong, wrong, wrong but his mouth wouldn't move.
The Doctor kept smiling and sliding the pick into the socket until a soft, scratchy 'click' echoed through Katsukis head.
"Please…" Katsuki breathed between frozen lips, pleading with the universe for mercy.
He was ignored.
"Marcus, the leucotome please." The doctor said and he seemed to have slipped into the zone, his pupils dilated when the tool was placed in his waiting palm.
It was a small metal hammer.
Katsuki's heart beat a bruise inside his chest, trying to break free. Instead it was just-
-Breaking.
This was it.
Garaki braced the rod securely, turned the hammer around in his hand, leaned in close, then gave a sturdy hit.
There was a crack, followed by agony and every signal in Katsuki's brain turned to deafening static. He knew he was screaming, he knew electricity was coursing through his body, but with the steady slide of the pick into his brain, nothing else seemed urgent.
Then something cold oozed into his head.
There weren't words to describe the horror he felt as whatever-it-was spread across the tissue within his skull.
Like microscopic ants, it dispersed. Millions of tiny legs crawling, tickling, inching further-
Until they began to bite and burrow.
His brain boiled, seemingly submerged in acid.
Tears streamed down Katsuki's face then the tool embedded in his frontal lobe was urged to move.
Slicing and sliding this way and that, ripping and tearing as it went.
The doctor was talking, but his words warped and twisted, a muffled mess of voice that made no sense.
A moment later, the pressure inside his skull ebbed. With cross-eyed focus he watched the tool recede and finally pull free.
Katsuki took a shuddering breath, everything within him throbbing. He knew he was in shock as pain dug into every fissure across his brain then-
A chilling calm flooded Katsuki's system.
Sure, there was agony so blinding he could hardly think beyond it, but suddenly, the sensations didn't seem to truly belong to him.
They coiled around him, within him, igniting his cells and drawing his attention to his destruction.
It didn't go away, he just couldn't bring himself to care.
This wasn't freedom. He knew that, however the indifference he felt toward his own suffering was a welcome change.
Something must have changed in his expression because the doctor leaned in and gave him a kind smile, eyes shining with pride. "That's a good lad. Isn't that better," he asked and Katsuki searched his mind for an answer, but there was nothing.
Like looking through the windows of his childhood home except someone had moved all the furniture. Most of the landmarks were still there. There were no pictures on the walls. The space seemed to prioritize function.
He wanted to go inside but his key no longer fit the lock.
Was this even his house?
Was he allowed to be here?
Was he a guest?
Movement above him drew Katsuki's attention back to the smiling Doctor. "Halfway there," he crooned, then lined up the pick against the corner of his other eye.
The doctor's finger felt cold against his eyelid and separating it from the tool was difficult, until the pick began its second journey into his brain.
The creature to Katsuki's right blinked down at him and there was a glint of mischief in its eyes. It chuffed then twitched to life, handing Garaki the hammer before he'd asked.
The doctor cursed as its fist bumped him mid-slide.
There was a pinch, colors began to run like his reality was melting and something felt wobbly in his head. Like water in a glass in some ancient dinosaur movie, the world rippled with his pulse.
He tried to blink but the metal in the socket opposed him.
Something was wrong with his eye. More wrong than before and he should have been scared but the doctor cleared his throat and assured him everything was fine.
It was a lie, that much was obvious. The gesture was nice, though; a nice piece of gauze over a gash to keep him from having to confront reality.
The rest of the procedure passed in an anguished blur. His body was screaming but it seemed natural. The doctor wasn't concerned, so why should he worry?
He just wanted to sleep. To let the world move on without him and let him rest.
And in a way, it did just that.
Like a bandaid peeled from a wound, the world pulled away from him.
He was sinking, his consciousness dissolving into a pin-prick of light as he drifted. The darkness coaxed him deeper and deeper with whispered promises of peaceful nothingness until, finally, it welcomed him.
The void was tranquil and cool, a remedy for his every ache and pain. It calmed the swirling panic, allowing him to breathe his first sigh of relief.
For a while, the promise of nothing was heeded. There was an occasional flash of color that struck like lightning through the void, but it didn't seem important. He was left to wander through the ceaseless depths of his empty mind.
Then something itched, prodding at the back of his consciousness with nagging urgency. He followed the feeling on instinct. It was familiar, which wasn't a common trait to his thoughts recently.
The typical listless haze lifted slightly and something he'd forgotten returned.
Deku.
His face, so full of terror and sorrow, swam into focus.
Why was he upset?
Their eyes met and Katsuki winced. Deku's eyes were wrong. They were mossy and dull, like he was drugged. But that wasn't the worst part.
Deku was staring at him like he was scared.
Scared of his Kacchan.
Katsuki noticed the hands around Deku's neck, the sparks that were flying.
He didn't understand.
Why would he hurt Deku? And why did the knowledge of what he'd done physically hurt?
Did it really matter?
This dream, and all those that came after felt like memories, though he wasn't sure who they belonged to.
Katsuki watched as fragments of another life used the void as a mouthpiece.
It seemed time was passing, but he couldn't tell how much or how quickly. However, Katsuki bore witness to Deku's withdrawal.
He paled, his scared face looking haunted.
So many fake smiles seen from afar and no one seemed to notice.
"Deku…" Katsuki whispered, reaching into the blackness toward the boy's image but he was out of reach, so far beyond him he wondered if he was even real.
"It's…It's ok, Deku."
"Please smile…" Katsuki pleaded
He didn't realize that would be the last time he would see Deku.
—
Not that it would matter if he did.
Katsuki's return to consciousness was as easy as breathing.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs to their maximum, until he could feel the stretch in his chest.
It felt good.
Euphoric even.
The exhale was just as wonderful.
Every system within him buzzed with the effervescence of life. Oxygen zing-ed through his bloodstream, cells bulging with so much raw, unspent energy it was intoxicating.
He felt Alive.
His heart thrummed with vigor for a cause it didn't yet know, but it was bright and strong and fearless.
He was vaguely aware of the feral grin that spread across his face.
There was a sudden silence that settled around him, thick with anticipation.
He could feel the muscles in his ears twitch toward the sound of shuffling feet and his eyes snapped open with predatory accuracy.
Before him stood a group of vaguely familiar people. Each regarded him differently, but their expressions didn't matter as much as their intent.
"He's quite tame, I assure you," the portly man closest to Katsuki said, gesturing toward him.
No one moved.
"Come now, you've all seen my work. This one's no different!"
A man with white hair quirked an eyebrow and shoved a sandy-blond man with a jagged scar that ran vertically down the center of his forehead, forward. "Twice, why don't you test that theory for us."
The name made something strange prickle pleasantly in Katsuki's brain. He knew Twice. He trusted this man, whatever that meant.
Twice was shaking, wringing his hands as he approached. His face was covered in fading bruises. The man crouched down, lowering himself to meet Katsuki's eyes. "Hey kid," he said simply, his voice tentative.
Katsuki pondered his response, but words seemed thick and unruly on his tongue. His silence seemed to break something in Twice. Emotions flashed across his face and there were too many, too fast.
Katsuki didn't know what he did wrong but it was making him nervous.
Twice reached forward, pressing a palm to Katsuki's face and he flinched, though he wasn't sure why. The touch was gentle, something he didn't realize he was yearning for, and he leaned into it, savering it like a reward.
"Kid," Twice repeated, "could you say something, please? Are you even still in there? Not like we care."
He wasn't really sure what he should say but settled on a simple, slurred, "shuddup."
Twice smirked and ran his thumb over the boy's cheek, "Yeah yeah, you know you missed me. Glad you made it back ..." He spoke softly, like his words were a secret then stood and turned back to the others.
Katsuki didn't care to listen once the words weren't meant for him and lost himself once again in the feelings coursing through his body. A part of him mourned the loss of Twice's hand but it didn't really matter.
Until another hand was on his face, holding his chin and tilting it roughly upward in a four fingered grip. Cherry red eyes glared down at him, and in those eyes, Katsuki found his place.
He didn't fight the grip, simply stared up at him, blinking slowly. Waiting.
"Your new name is Zero. Repeat it back to me."
"Zero." The word left the blond's lips before he permitted it to.
The man above him smirked and the shiver it sent up Zero's back wasn't a horrible feeling. "That's right. And who am I?"
"A villain," Zero said.
The moment he stopped speaking the back of the man's hand collided with Zero's cheek, throwing his head to the side.
He didn't try to right himself. He tasted blood. But that didn't matter.
What mattered was the ice that raced under his skin, swallowing him whole and leaving nothing behind but the feeling of failure.
It ached, pulling a whimper from his throat.
The hand was on him again, this time in his hair, yanking his head back.
"Try again."
Zero trembled as their eyes met. There was an expectation he couldn't meet. He didn't know what he was supposed to say.
So he stayed quiet.
His refusal to speak sent another jolt of failure, pathetic, disgusting…
Useless…
The man slicked his tongue in disappointment, "stupid thing."
'Thing?' he thought, confused. But Zero was a person, wasn't he?
Zero's head was jerked to the side, bringing the others into view.
All of them, sans Twice, were staring at him expectantly.
"We are your masters," the man said through a condescending sneer. "Say it."
"Masters," Zero whispered, the word somehow feeling wrong in his mouth.
"Louder."
"Masters!"
"Don't forget it." Master shoved him away and left his side.
Why did that feel like a knife twisted in his chest?
"Twice, get him fed and in his cell, Spinner and I've got a match in 10."
Zero stared at his new hands and the sandwich cradled gently between them.
A shock of green, like grass, like evergreen, like- passed through his periphery.
He turned to follow it but it wasn't there.
He blinked and the sandwich was caked and squished between his fingers.
A laugh, as bright and warm as the sun, echoed through the air behind him.
With a name on the tip of his tongue that he didn't recognize he turned once more.
But still, he was alone.
He blinked again and the remnants of his sandwich were on the floor.
He stood there, staring at them, trying to piece together what had happened.
He'd wanted that.
He was hungry.
He hadn't eaten a bite of it, no taste beyond iron and *gasoline* lingering in his mouth.
He blinked as someone patted him on the back. Someone else ran a hand through his sparse tufts of blond.
A part, deep inside him, recoiled. It snarled and lunged at them. But his body remained utterly apathetic.
He couldn't be bothered to respond.
Not even when he was shoved to the ground on his knees at the feet of his masters before a metal bowl.
His face burned with a shame he couldn't feel.
The remains of his sandwich had been thoughtfully deposited into the bowl.
He curled around it and watched passively as someone's hand dipped into the bowl and raised a crust of bread to Zero's lips.
He parted them, took the morsle into his mouth and chewed languidly.
He lost himself in the taste of peanut butter. Something tangy, perhaps strawberry?
He took another bite.
"What do you say?" A voice said from above him.
"Thank you." He didn't stop eating to speak.
"Good boy."