Chapter 96

.::I'm Sorry::.

"Wakey, wakey... C'mon, this is getting boring."

The voice stirred Hitoshi to consciousness, a barely audible moan slipping out. His eyes refused to open, the bed too comfortable to make him willing to put much effort in prying them apart. He nuzzled the pillow a bit, consciousness already fading again, but felt a finger poke his shoulder. "Hey, get up. This isn't a cut scene you can skip."

Irritated, Hitoshi opened his mouth to mumble something, planning to get the man to respond so he could order him to leave and let him sleep.

Except, he couldn't.

When he tried to open his mouth he found his jaw forcibly held shut, refusing to budge the slightest amount. That realization caused him to wake up fully, his eyes snapping open in alarm. His hands flew to his face, prodding at the unfamiliar object. It was cold and hard plastic, tight around his jaw with sturdy straps that looped behind his head.

A muzzle, he realized in growing horror. It fit his jaw perfectly, like it had been made for him, and he could even feel something pressing between his teeth so he couldn't close them together. The more he felt along it the more frantic he became. Clawing at it in a desperate attempt to remove it, his thumb brushed over a key hole near a hinge where the straps connected below his ear, making his heart sink.

It had a lock. He couldn't remove it on his own.

Panic began to wash over him, his breathing becoming harsh and ragged as he began clawing even more in a desperate bid to remove it. The contraption wouldn't budge, firmly pressed against his skin with absolutely no space. No, no, no, NO! A scream built in his throat, muffled and choked away by the horrific device.

"There's no point trying to remove it," someone commented and he jolted, head snapping up. In his panic he'd forgotten about the voice which had woken him in the first place, and he sorely regretted that when he saw the figure sitting next to the bed. Shaggy silvery-blue hair fell in the man's face, disembodied hands gripping him all along his sides and arms with one more resting in his lap.

Hitoshi flinched as he met red eyes, watching chapped lips spread into an unsettling grin. "You'll never get it off, you know," the man told him almost gleefully. "We can't take any chances, Mister Hijack."

Hitoshi stared at him in horror, raw terror coiling painfully in his stomach as he began to shake violently. Shit. This was not good, this was the worst fucking case scenario possible. Villains had captured him and he couldn't use his Quirk, he was completely vulnerable, totally and utterly screwed.

The man reached forward and Hitoshi flinched away, his back slamming against the wall as he stared at the outstretched fingers with unconcealed panic. His reaction seemed to amuse the man, his smile shrinking to a smirk as he let three fingers brush Hitoshi's jaw.

A cold shudder ran down his spine as they traced along the edge of the muzzle, acutely aware of destruction they could cause if he just added two more fingers. His memories before waking up were hazy, but he remembered this man, how he made an entire dumpster just disintegrate from a single slap. Feeling those same fingers trace the skin so close to his face left him with goosebumps.

"You caused us a lot of trouble for a brat," the man commented. "I have half a mind to kill you now." Hitoshi stiffened as the fingers drifted downwards towards his throat, his pulse thundering with the sheer terror he felt as one passed right over his Adam's apple. "It would be so easy and quick. But I won't."

The man finally withdrew his hand, causing some of the tension to seep away from Hitoshi's shoulders. The teenager still remained on edge though, staring at the villain with shaky fear. "Your Quirk is so useful," he commented, and the way he said it sent a shiver down Hitoshi's spine, revulsion adding to the tight coil of fear in his stomach. "It will be much better having it on our side than with shitty heroes."

The last word was spat out with disdain, a bitter scowl momentarily twisting across his face that would make Hitoshi wince if he weren't absolutely paralyzed. "Mind control is way too OP to just throw away without trying."

With that the villain abruptly rose, causing Hitoshi to flinch back on reflex. The man kicked the swivel chair he'd been sitting in towards a desk as he turned to walk to the door. "I'm gonna head out now that you're awake. Organizing parties takes a lot of time. Someone else will stop by to tell you all the rules later. You just get comfortable, you're going to be with us for a long time."

With those ominous parting words he opened the door and stepped out, the door closing with a loud click and an electronic beep. For a moment Hitoshi sat in silence, staring at it wide-eyed. Then he tried to open his mouth and scream, but all he could do was release muffled grunts as he clawed at his hair, doubling over on himself on top of the bed.

For most of his life, Shinsou Hitoshi had been told how villainous his Quirk was.

As a little kid his classmates hadn't been particularly malicious about it. They had been a bit wary of him, sure, but their off-hand comments about the power of his Quirk were clearly just the mindless jabber of children with no tact. "Your Quirk would be really useful to villains!" "I'm glad you're not a villain!" "It's kinda scary, haha!" "You could get all the free ice cream you wanted with that!"

He could sense their wariness and caution through those remarks, but they hadn't treated him with actual fear. After all, he'd never actually used it on them without their consent. Some of his classmates even asked him to use it to see if they could do stuff like backflips or get through more tedious exercises in gym class before teachers put a stop to it. The biggest gripe he could remember was having to fight to not be the villain when they'd play pretend on the playground.

But then All Might died. And as the world began to change, so too did his classmates' attitudes.

Looking back, he couldn't pinpoint an exact day that "everything changed," so to speak. The shift was so gradual it was almost unnoticeable, but as the person at the center of it, he could feel its effects more than any other student.

As more Pro Heroes' names showed up on the news as grim statistics and numbers, people around him began to distance themselves. The tactless comments he'd grown up with faded to silence, his classmates and teachers alike looking at him with growing apprehension. Maybe the most telling thing was that they didn't look at him like a villain though. Their eyes never held fear or spite, or anything malicious like that.

No, those gazes were fully of pity and concern, knowing that Hitoshi would inevitably be targeted for his Quirk.

The first stories of children being kidnapped and forcibly recruited into villainy began circulating not even a year after All Might's death. The school worked hard and managed to hide most of the students' Quirks to a large extent, but their efforts only did so much. As more and more kids with valuable Quirks went missing across the country his classmates gave Hitoshi a wider berth, fearing it would only be a matter of time until he got kidnapped too.

Hitoshi could see his parents worrying even if they tried to hide it. His Quirk had effectively been a fusion of their own: his father with a light hypnosis Quirk initiated through eye contact, and his mother's which could lightly influence people's emotions. Both were weak on their own, so the power of his Brainwashing stood out. It didn't take long for them to enroll him in self defense classes and get him a cell phone.

Things came to a head in his final year of elementary school, when a boy who'd graduated the previous year was kidnapped by villains. It was the first kidnapping so close to home, the first time they knew the victim. That night he'd hidden next to his door listening to his parents cry in fear and frustration, worrying about when his turn would come. By that point it seemed more like a matter of when than if.

(The distant sound of his mom's quiet sobs that night would haunt his dreams for years.)

For the rest of the year, Hitoshi wasn't allowed to walk to school or home without an adult. The next year when middle school started, Hitoshi stopped attending within one month. He only left home for his self-defense classes, and even then only on weekends when his parents could drive him straight there and back.

But that hadn't been the tipping point.

That had been the UA Massacre.

Hitoshi remembered the cold horror as he watched the news talk about the steadily rising confirmed death toll, a silent numbness creeping over him. Up to that point, things hadn't seemed completely hopeless. Even with so many Pro Heroes dying and having to leave the spotlight for their own safety, even with kids going missing, even with Tokyo getting destroyed, people still had hope that things could get better.

But seeing the reporters standing outside UA's gates, the footage of the crushed remains of the artificial city used for the entrance exam, blood still smeared across the concrete and rubble—

At that moment, it finally became clear that "normal" would never return.

All schools canceled class that week, Japan as a whole too grief-stricken and shocked to do anything. Hitoshi couldn't tell you what happened during those days. Everything felt like a haze, horrible and unending and unreal.

When classes resumed his school had a mandatory assembly, so Hitoshi attended class for the first time since the previous May. It felt like he was walking into a cemetery, no one speaking and the atmosphere worse and heavier than ever. The black uniforms of his middle school only added to the gloomy sense of mourning even before he reached his homeroom.

It had been after the assembly that one of his classmates approached him, a blond kid with a tail who'd only joined his elementary school class the previous year.

Two weeks after that, they ran away together.

It had been three months after that when they met a third boy, and they all became vigilantes.

Vigilantism hadn't been their original plan, but maybe it shouldn't be surprising. The three of them had power and skills, better than most kids their age—better than some of the kids older than them. All of them had been training in self defense even before running away, and their time on the streets only hardened them further as they became more savvy and clever in order to fend for themselves.

So in retrospect, it had been natural that they'd all jump in to save a girl from a would-be mugger. It had also been natural to continue interfering in whatever crimes they stumbled across after that, until eventually they began seeking those crimes out. All three of them had wanted to be heroes for some reason or another, and that drive hadn't disappeared even now; if anything, it became stronger.

Once Hitoshi lived on the streets and saw first-hand just how cruel and dangerous the world became with each passing day, idly sitting by felt wrong. Once-shallow motivations of proving his classmates wrong about his Quirk gave way to true determination to do good. They protected those smaller and weaker than them, taking down villains and fleeing as fast as possible.

Life continued like that—not quite peaceful per say, but content enough. His friends became something closer than just friends. They would travel around Japan and fight crime in other places, steadily building reputations for themselves as they sent more and more villains behind bars. They even got a master, who took them under his wing to teach them his ways and got them proper vigilante gear.

Throughout it all, the trio's bond grew even stronger. Mashirao and Neito became something more than friends, closer to brothers than anything. Even after finding a whole slew of runaways in similar situations in Odawara, joined a full network, they never stayed long before setting out together once more. Other people would come and go, even the vigilante who taught them disappearing, but they didn't mind. The lack of a house to return to didn't matter as long as he had them.

Almost.

The mistake had been when Hitoshi felt a pinch of homesickness, and decided to go back to Nabu for a quick visit.

That had been when he'd fucked up and gotten captured.

That had been how he'd ended up in this hellhole. Locked in a windowless room with a fucking bomb on his ankle and a muzzle locked around his jaw almost fulltime. Sure, he got some little freedoms after a while. Could walk around the building with supervision, play video games and do homework with a Pro Hero. Even got to keep a cat in his cell.

Didn't change the fact he was stuck in hell.

Mealtimes for Hitoshi were a silent affair, even with the muzzle removed, and tonight was no different. He didn't speak to the guards who came to deliver dinner and watch him as he ate, didn't even look at them. Just silently shoveled his food into his mouth, no thoughts of resistance on his mind.

Oh, he'd tried at first. The first few meals he tried to get the person to speak, barraging them with frantic questions in a bid to get them to answer just one, or even tell him to shut and eat. Just any kind of response. His jailers had remained silent though, just wordlessly shoved the food at him and sat in silence until Hitoshi ate. His overwhelming hunger made it impossible to refrain from eating, and he knew he needed his strength.

And he'd tried physically fighting back, too. Viciously lashed out the very first time they moved to put the muzzle back on after he finished eating. He'd managed to to smack the guy in the face pretty hard when he got close, and had been ready to make a run for the door. Then he'd felt a harsh shock from his ankle, and his anger gave way to a pained yell as electricity coursed through his leg.

That had been how he discovered the anklet had a more practical use than just reminding him of his predicament and lack of freedom.

Nowadays, after several failed attempts and painful reminders of his lack of power, he saw no point in resisting—well, not actively resisting, anyway. He still had escape on his mind; he'd always had it on his mind, even after resigning himself to being unable to escape on his own power. But the thought was even more omnipresent now that Midoriya was helping them work on an actual plan.

Midoriya. Quite possibly the single most tolerable part of this nightmare besides Sushi—or Mion, as he'd taken to calling the kitten in his head. Hitoshi wouldn't go so far as to say the other boy was good, because nothing about this place was good, but... He made things more bearable. After all, Shigaraki didn't want to upset his "brother" by hurting his "friend."

Helped that he now wanted to help Hitoshi escape, too, along with that Bakugou kid and Eraserhead. That was honestly the first bright spot of hope he'd gotten since waking up here. Ever since they all started working together, his situation had improved immensely. Having an actual goal left him feeling productive instead of just listless and edging ever-closer towards despair.

Even just eating dinner in silence with no resistance, like he did right now, felt useful. His cooperative attitude served towards a larger goal of lulling the villains into a false sense of security, letting them think he was becoming complacent. After all, the more compliant he behaved, the more likely they'd believe he wanted to be here.

To that end, as he neared the end of his soup he glanced at one of the mooks standing guard. A guy with a rodent mutation of some kind, more "ugly sewer rat" than "cute and soft mouse." Some kind of irony that a rat-faced bastard did, in fact, turn out to be a villain.

"So, any chance we can skip the muzzle tonight?" he asked casually. "Give me a break for good behavior?" Beady eyes darted his way, and the guy's lips pulled back in a sneer (and damn, that full set of human teeth with that face was jarring and disconcerting), but said nothing. Just glowered for a few seconds before looking away. Hitoshi huffed softly, going back to eating as he muttered, "Yeah, thought not."

He kept his tone light and casual, making sure not to show any despondency or ire. The tricky part of this whole charade was to make sure it didn't seem like he'd just given up. They needed the villains to think Hitoshi had begun to like it here and felt comfortable, rather than simply had his spirit broken and fallen into despair. That would just make them wary of him someday regaining that spirit.

He still frowned when Ratface approached with the muzzle after dinner ended, but didn't try to fight back. Had to mentally psych himself into opening his mouth so he could put it back on. As usual he grimaced when he felt the rubber bar slide between his teeth. It wasn't too long, just enough to force him to bite down on it, but it helped keep the muzzle even more firmly in place. He closed his eyes as they secured it, shoulders slumping tiredly.

Once he heard the click from by his ear Ratface backed off. "See ya in the morning, kid," he grunted, following the other miscellaneous grunt who'd already exited the door. Hitoshi flopped onto his back as he heard it close and automatically lock behind them, letting his eyes shut and rest for a moment.

He wasn't sure how long had passed since he got captured. It was still relatively recent, enough so for him to still be adjusting. His bouts of resistance had already dwindled though. The last attempt had ended with him handcuffed to the bed for a full night, even through the fucking meal. He only got released after Shigaraki visited him.

"You're stubborn," the man huffed, glaring down at Hitoshi as he sat on the edge of the bed. "You're not following the script. You should be more cooperative by now, this is getting frustrating." Hitoshi couldn't respond of course, could only stare up at him while shaking violently. His wrists were still cuffed to the bedposts, belts binding his torso and knees tightly to the mattress.

If Shigaraki wanted to kill him he could do nothing, absolutely nothing, and they both knew it. For the first time in years Hitoshi felt the same vulnerability he'd felt as a child, his mind desperately screaming for someone, anyone, to save him from this nightmare. He knew help wouldn't come though. Shigaraki leaned over, his hair tickling Hitoshi's face and his features cast in shadow as his head hovered just inches above his.

"I do not like uncooperative NPCs," the man informed him crisply, red eyes cold and apathetic. "Change it, or I might just dispose of you after all."

He pulled away, turning around so Hitoshi couldn't see his face. "One chance. I will give you one chance to get over this."

He left after that, leaving Hitoshi to cry and sob and wrench against his restraints. The next time someone entered and removed his muzzle to feed him, he made no attempt to resist even when they put it on afterwards. Only then did they finally remove the restraints, and after they left he'd curled in a ball on his side and sobbed.

Hitoshi estimated it had been a full day since then, and he'd rather not repeat the experience. Ominous as the threat had been though, he already found himself more listless than scared. There wasn't much to do in this place besides sleep and eat, and the mooks never hung around long outside mealtimes. At this point, he'd welcome it if they stuck around to taunt and mock him, because at least it'd give him something to do.

The most entertainment he got was probably his dreams, and even that was getting dispiriting. Dreams just reminded him of what he should be doing, like hanging with friends or fighting crime or training. Hell, he'd had two dreams about finding some mythic master to teach him how to be a hero. Last night's had been complete with an epic mountain training montage that ended with him sprouting wings as he reached the next tier of heroism. And then they made soda for some reason...?

He'd been contemplating the potential symbolism of adding ketchup to make the mixture taste "lighter" when he heard a series of metallic bangs on the door. The noise startled Hitoshi out of his thoughts as his head snapped towards it, needing a few seconds to recognize what it was: knocking. The door opened moments later but the person didn't barge right in like every other time, instead peeking his head inside almost shyly.

"H-hello? Are you the new guy?"

Hitoshi looked at the newcomer with narrowed eyes, instantly wary. He appeared to be his age, with curly green-tinged black hair and bright green eyes that looked too innocent for a place like this. When they made eye contact the boy slipped inside and closed the door, offering him a friendly if somewhat tentative smile. "Hi, nice to meet you! I'm Midoriya Izuku."

Hitoshi frowned (not that it could be seen with this damn contraption on his face), sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest with a suspicious look. The boy, Midoriya, paused as he looked at him, seeming to realize something. "Ah, I-I guess you can't really speak like that, huh... Oh! I know! Be right back!" He perked up and quickly hurried out, the door automatically locking behind him. Hitoshi remained motionless, glaring at it warily until it finally opened again about five minutes later.

Midoriya entered with a timid sort of smile, carrying a small white board and a handful of markers. "Here, I know it's not the best option, but it's better than nothing," he said, holding them out as he approached the bed. Hitoshi hesitated before cautiously accepting them, eying the boy suspiciously as he uncapped a marker and scribbled on the board.

'Who are you? What do you want?' he wrote, turning it for the boy to see. Midoriya's expression dimmed a bit, his smile just a bit sadder as he pulled the chair over to sit by the bed.

"I want to talk, mostly. You're the first person my age to show up here since, well, ever." He shrugged lamely, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, I guess Toga is about our age too, and Mustard is too, but they're kinda scary sometimes and Tomura-nii doesn't like me spending too much time with them alone, so..." He trailed off sheepishly, not noticing Hitoshi's gaze harden at the words "Tomura-nii."

'You're Shigaraki's brother?' he jotted down, the strokes harsh and thick as he pushed down on the marker harder than intended. Midoriya sucked in a breath when he read it and averted his gaze.

"Not... exactly," he said slowly. "It's, uh, complicated. Long story short, I've been living here with the alliance since I was eight for... reasons." He shrugged and left it at that, wringing the fabric of his pants as he glanced back. "I don't do anything for the Alliance or work with them, if you're wondering. Tomura-nii actually wants me to stay out of it. I'm... Quirkless." His expression took on a rueful slant at that, his eyes just a little more wry and grim even as he offered a tight smile.

Hitoshi's eyes narrowed, writing another question. 'You expect me to believe that?'

"That's fair," Midoriya said once he read it. "I'd probably be suspicious in your shoes, too. But I mean it when I say I don't have anyone else my age. I just really want someone to talk to, I guess. I'm really rusty at talking to other kids, and we won't have to talk about anything you don't want to, but you're probably really bored here anyway, so it's better than nothing, right?" He offered another smile as he spoke, shy and timid with a tiny glint of hope in his eyes.

Hitoshi was wary of it all, naturally suspicious of the boy's motives, but he couldn't deny the truth of that. He had nothing to occupy himself between meal times, no way to even measure time. He didn't trust the other boy, but he would indulge him, if only because he had no choice. After all, the "one more chance" Shigaraki mentioned had to mean something.

Midoriya visited almost every day after that, talking about whatever various subjects came to mind. Whenever Hitoshi expressed displeasure or discomfort with a topic the other boy would apologize and change it immediately. He only tried to probe Hitoshi for information occasionally, mainly asking for a name besides Hijack ("Doesn't have to be your real one, it's just weird using a codename all the time") but never complaining about his refusal to share it.

He knew Midoriya knew about his Quirk and its mechanics. He also knew the boy knew about his vigilante career. He would occasionally reference it, asking with obviously restrained curiosity about criminals he'd encountered or if he ever had close calls with the police. His eyes seemed to glow with genuine fascination the rare times Hitoshi answered, his voice dropping to a quiet breath when discussing Brainwashing as if in awe of its potential. A definite first for Hitoshi.

At some point, Hitoshi began to relax when Midoriya visited. Not much, he still remained guarded and careful because he wasn't an idiot, but he would listen to the boy prattle on without complaint. Midoriya began bringing books for him to read, populating the bare shelf in the room with a wide variety of options to choose from. If he saw Hitoshi reading one he would excitedly ask his opinion on it, a topic Hitoshi was content to indulge because it revealed little about himself. Their conversations gradually became longer as he participated more actively through the whiteboard.

Those visits became a new part of his routine, the only respite he had from his long stretches of isolation in captivity. He still didn't fully trust Midoriya, still loathed the situation as a whole, but he could tolerate the other boy. Even look forward to his visits.

Then one day, he stopped.

It was a soft swish of air and a mewl of surprise from Mion that had Hitoshi opening his eyes. He'd come to recognize the difference between her usual "look at me and shower me with love, human" meows and "oh, this is new" sounds, and this was the latter. He opened his eyes to see a shadowy figure looming in the corner of the room, and jolted upright with a smothered gasp.

It took a moment to realize that the figure wasn't just shadowy, but actually covered in mist. Kurogiri. Hitoshi's heart pounded like mad as he stared at the villain, wondering what the hell he was doing there. Mion mewed as she pawed at the newcomer's leg, and those wispy golden eyes flickered towards her as Kurogiri knelt down to pet her.

"Hello, Sushi. I see you are doing well." Mion arched against his hand, clearly content with the attention. For a second, Hitoshi let himself believe he was just there for the cat. Kurogiri's gaze returned to him though and he felt himself stiffen, recognizing that the villain was indeed there for him.

Without moving his eyes from Kurogiri's he groped on the mattress until he found the phone and picked it up, finally breaking eye contact to type. "Do you need something?" the electronic voice asked, stilted and monotonous as always.

"Yes. This will not take long." The villain rose to his full height and strolled over, making Hitoshi tense even further and shrink back. The flickering wisps of mist around the top of his head made him seem even taller and more imposing, and Hitoshi felt his breath catch as Kurogiri held out a hand as if to help him up. Hitoshi hesitated a moment, before slowly getting up on his own.

The villain recognized he didn't intend to take his hand and let it drop, instead turning to walk to the door. "I suppose you'll be more comfortable walking, so come along." Hitoshi followed warily, wondering what he had in mind. Mion trailed at their heels, ready for an adventure, but when they reached the door Hitoshi gently nudged her back with his foot. She made her protests known as Kurogiri closed the door, (hopefully) sealing her inside.

It didn't take long to realize where Kurogiri wanted to go. Eraserhead's cell wasn't too far from his own after all, and it wasn't like there was anywhere else to go besides Aiko's lab. Kurogiri knocked twice before opening the door.

The hero sat up looking instantly alert as Hitoshi entered first with the villain right behind him. "What's going on?" he demanded sharply, eyes darting briefly towards Hitoshi before settling firmly on Kurogiri. "Why did you bring him here? Where's Midoriya?"

"Izuku is currently spending time with Tomura," Kurogiri replied smoothly. "He will visit soon with your dinner, so there is no need to fret."

"That still doesn't answer the first question," Eraserhead growled. Kurogiri did not respond, and then Eraserhead suddenly stiffened, eyes going wide for some reason.

"I see the handcuffs are missing," Kurogiri commented, and Hitoshi felt his stomach sink as his eyes darted to the hero's hands. He still wore the mittens, just in case this exact situation happened with a random villain barging in, but the handcuffs were still gone. They'd hoped that any visitors wouldn't notice, but that had been so stupid in retrospect. Kurogiri's head turned slightly to the nest of blankets and pillows, the only objects in the room. "I assume they're hidden under one of the pillows."

Eraserhead's lips pressed together in a firm line, quickly averting his gaze. Hitoshi meanwhile felt sick, chilly fear starting to seep through him as Kurogiri seemed to glide across the room. He crouched in front of the hero, Eraserhead's head still bowed as the villain inspected his hands. "Hmm. Izuku shouldn't be able to remove the handcuffs, so I assume it was someone else."

"It was Aiko," Eraserhead confirmed through gritted teeth.

"Ah, I see. Well, no matter. I do not think they are particularly necessary. That will also make this faster." He lowered his voice then, murmuring something too soft for Hitoshi to hear. Whatever he said couldn't be good though because Eraserhead's head snapped up with his bloodshot eyes wide and bewildered.

"No," he said, the word breathy and panicked. "No, I won't—" He stopped with a small hiss as he shifted back reflexively, hands reaching to clutch his splinted leg, and Hitoshi winced in sympathy.

"You are not in a position to refuse, Eraserhead," Kurogiri said, reaching out to grab one of his hands. Eraserhead went stock still as he undid the snap buckle on the mitten and pulled it off, continuing smoothly, "This will ultimately be better in the long run. It will only be temporary of course, but think of the benefits. The massive improvements in basic quality of life."

The argument had Eraserhead visibly freezing up, gaze darting towards Hitoshi. Their eyes met and the hero somehow became even more rigid, his face screwing up before sharply tearing his gaze away. The entire exchange had alarms bells blaring in Hitoshi's head, dread starting to pool in his stomach. He could see Eraserhead grit his teeth in apprehension as Kurogiri removed the other mitten.

"No one will know the truth," he said, setting them aside. "I will take care of everything else, so you do not need to worry. But I suggest you consider it, for his sake. I do believe this is the best option we have." Eraserhead's shoulders hunched even higher before suddenly sagging, his head falling forward and his hair obscuring his expression.

"...Fine," he muttered, sounding utterly defeated. Kurogiri rose to his full height and turned to Hitoshi, making him flinch, and gestured for the teen to approach.

"Come here, Hijack. This will only take a few moments."

Every instinct in Hitoshi's body was screaming to get the hell away. Whatever was about to happen was bad, very bad, even without taking Eraserhead's reaction into consideration. You never listened to the shadowy villain in these situations, it was basic Survival 101.

But he also didn't have a choice. He couldn't run away even if he opened the door, couldn't avoid Kurogiri forever when he was trapped in this building by a bomb on his ankle. Couldn't fight back even with his hands unrestrained. Even if the anklet didn't shock him and he somehow won, he'd still be stuck in enemy territory surrounded by hostiles.

He was trapped, plain and simple.

So with great reluctance he forced himself to walk forward, that crushing dread getting heavier with each step. He stopped in front of Kurogiri and Eraserhead, the hero's head still bowed and not looking at him. Kurogiri took a step back and gestured for Hitoshi to move directly in front of Eraserhead, and he did so reluctantly, slowly kneeling before him.

His heart pounded as Eraserhead heaved a deep, soul-shuddering sigh, reaching up to rub at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Fuck," he murmured softly. "I can't believe... Fuck." With another heavy breath, he removed his hands from his eyes and looked at Hitoshi.

In that moment, he looked heartbroken and guilt-ridden. There was no other way to describe the utter despair and resignation in his eyes as their gazes met, the rueful and hollow twist to his mouth. Hitoshi felt frozen, veins turning to ice as Eraserhead spoke quietly. "Kid, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry about this."

With that he reached out to grab Hitoshi's face, cupping either side of his head while never breaking eye contact. A grimace flickered across Eraser's features before his expression seemed to harden with resolve.

And then, his eyes flashed red and his hair rose.

Hitoshi felt the breath leave his lungs at the sudden shift, more shocked than anything else. He felt like he couldn't look away from Eraserhead's eyes, able to see the spreading veins and now-red glow to his irises which quickly flickered to gold.

Then just as suddenly as it began it stopped, eyes returning to their usual inky black and his hair falling limply around his shoulders. His hands pried away from Hitoshi's head and went right back to being buried against his eyes as he leaned back with a sharp inhale, hissing softly, "Fuck. Fuck, shit, fucking hell... Can't believe I just..."

As he muttered to himself Hitoshi startled when Kurogiri suddenly crouched beside him. The villain had moved so silently he hadn't heard his approach, and Hitoshi turned his head just in time to see Kurogiri reach towards his face. He flinched and squeezed his eyes shut on reflex, feeling the mist brush his cheek.

It was hard to describe the feeling of Kurogiri's mist. It was light and felt like a brush of air, yet slightly heavier and more there. Hitoshi shuddered involuntarily at the contact, and then again as he then felt something solid beneath it. Skin, for sure, dry and cold and solid, making him flinch again when he felt it brush his ear. Wait, his ear? What—

There was a familiar click, and his eyes popped open as he felt the muzzle loosen and pull away. "How do you feel, Hijack?" Kurogiri questioned, and Hitoshi swallowed thickly, still trying to process what was going on.

"I... D-don't... know?" he managed to sputter. The first words he'd ever spoken to this particular villain.

"Then I assume there is no pain," Kurogiri responded, and at that moment, Hitoshi felt his blood chill.

"I'm sorry," Eraserhead repeated quietly, voice hollow and broken, and Hitoshi opened his mouth and screamed.

Hitoshi spent the entirety of the first day reading, measuring the passage of time by the delivery of meals. He waited for Midoriya through breakfast, lunch and dinner. Yet, the boy never came. It had been disappointing, but it also wasn't the first time he'd skipped a day, so Hitoshi hadn't thought much of it.

But the next day came and went without an appearance from the other boy, and then another. And another.

After three days he began to feel something like worry, wondering if something happened to Midoriya to prevent him from visiting.

By the end of nearly two weeks with no sign of the boy though, his concern had quickly changed to anger and apathy.

In the end, Midoriya never was all that different from the rest of the Alliance. Hitoshi realized the boy had used him as a tool to alleviate his boredom, just another face among countless others who must have been captured over the years. The novelty of his presence must have finally worn off and he'd lost interest, leaving Hitoshi to sit and rot until he either died, or gave in to the Alliance's wishes.

The thought angered him, his heart closing off a little more. He knew they had never been friends, that he shouldn't feel betrayed, but he couldn't help the pang of resentment towards the other boy for throwing him away so easily.

So when Midoriya finally returned, he had sighed and gotten his white board to question him. He didn't feel like entertaining a callous, spoiled brat who would ignore him if he didn't perform enough fun tricks to hold his interest. Indulging the boy's desire to appease his boredom would yield no benefits for him; he'd rather just get him to leave now than waste energy on trying to appeal to him.

That had been what he thought, anyway.

Then Midoriya teared up and began crying, and threw himself at Hitoshi while sobbing and apologizing relentlessly.

"I'm sorry," he babbled like a broken record player. "I'm so sorry." Hitoshi stood in stunned silence as the boy squeezed his arms around his torso, able to feel him shaking against his body. Part of him wanted to shove him off, his body now accustomed to associating physical contact with pain thanks to his imprisonment here, but he found himself paralyzed. He knew Midoriya wasn't faking the tears, he had seen enough people crying to tell when someone's sobs were genuine.

Not knowing what else to do, he just tried to pat his back, questioning himself all the while. That gesture just made it worse, the pair having to move to the bed so they wouldn't fall over as Midoriya hugged him even tighter. As he sobbed and repeated the endless apology like a chant, Hitoshi silently wondered if he could get a new shirt as he tried to ignore the growing dampness on his shoulder from tears.

"I'm sorry, kid. I'm so sorry."

It felt like déjà vu, but this time Midoriya wasn't the one crying and saying it, and this time Hitoshi wasn't the one giving the comfort. He just continued to cry and sob in Eraserhead's arms as the hero wrapped him in a tight embrace, the man squeezing him tight as he repeated the apologies like a mantra.

And every syllable just reminded Hitoshi of the empty void where his Quirk should be.

This chapter.

The entire flashback part has been in my drafts since Chapter 23, when Izuku initiated the alliance. I was going to have it be split between Bakugou and Shinsou's POV, but I decided to save it for later. I did not anticipate "later" being 73 chapters. I even had this as Chapter 88 originally, before deciding to put off the reveal just a little longer for maximum drama.

I am so glad to finally have this out there. I am so very happy with this chapter. Also, I am weirdly proud that pretty much no one guessed Aizawa had a hand in it. I think only two comments even suggested that as a possibility. Everyone was focused on it being either AFO (both the person and Quirk), or the bullets. I look forward to your reactions~

Also, reminder: There's still an art contest for Chapter 100! Just your favorite scene/moment/etc. from the story. You can submit entries to my Tumblr, which is also cannibalisticapple.

Once again, no question for next time. I just want to hear your thoughts on how this works.