He woke with a start. He doubled over, gasping for air as he almost screamed in terror.
The pain was gone, but he still felt it in his mind as vividly as he had done in his body.
His shaky breathing slowly started to steady as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the sound… and before long, he came to notice the hollow, metallic element to it.
He opened his eyes again in his newfound confusion—only to notice he was in fact in complete darkness.
"… Wait… Where am I?" he slowly got up. "How did I get here?"
His eyes scanned around, squinting as he tried to make out anything he could.
Suddenly the floor gained a pale green tint.
He jumped at the sudden change with a startled shriek—but before long, his natural curiosity overtook his initial fright.
He blinked, and it was gone.
"… Huh?"
He repeated the same process as before, looking for light in the newly-returned darkness.
The pale green returned.
"… What—?" He started, before a door opened 7.6281 meters away.
… Wait, how did I know—?
"I see you're finally awake, young man!" A warm, soft-spoken voice remarked from its direction, its source approaching him at a gentle but easygoing 0.8624 meters per second.
Izuku blinked in his confusion at this sudden influx of random and oddly specific intuition, but before he had any time to wonder from whence it had come, his eyes turned to the source of the voice approaching him.
His eyes widened as he saw who it was.
"… Professor David Shield!?"
The man smiled warmly. "Seems like I don't need to introduce myself," he extended a hand in greeting. "Although I guess it makes sense, in a way—after all, the same goes for you, young Midoriya."
Izuku stared at him in wordless disbelief as a thousand questions rushed through his mind, his hand subconsciously slowly moving to Professor Shield's.
He… He knows my name…?
How did I get here? Why am I here? Where even is here? The last thing I remember is—
His eyes widened in terror and his hand twitched back as the memory resurfaced.
Pain.
He remembered pain.
Almost at once he doubled over and collapsed onto his knees; he barely heard the sound of metal clanging against metal as he did so. For all that he could not stop them, his rapid breaths would have felt hollow and empty—had he paid them any attention.
But his mind was clogged taken by the memory at its forefront, flashing before his eyes.
Pain. Unbearable pain. Searing pain. Burning pain. Flesh burning off his bones. Burning fire. Fire everywhere.
The full memory came back like a tidal wave.
Katsuki had been in danger. He was going to die. He tried to save him. He—
His mind and body froze as one.
He'd been blown away.
With the memory now clear as day in his head, the boy slowly leaned back to sit on his haunches, his arms slumped at his sides.
The Sludge Villain must have swatted me aside into the fire. But… Then how am I still alive?
He felt two hands resting on his shoulders, gently bringing him back to the present. He slowly raised his eyes to meet their owner's.
"… Professor," his voice started to tremble. "What happened to me?"
The man's soft, empathetic gaze met his own.
"I know you have a lot of questions, young man—and given what you've through, I can't say I blame you." He carefully brought his hands past his shoulders to his arms, and helped him to his feet. "But I have a feeling you'll need some time to process all of…" He looked down at the boy's body with an odd look on his face, "All of this, first."
Izuku blinked tilted in confusion, before following the Professor's gaze. The metal over his body shone gently in the light from the—
… Wait. Metal?
His focus was immediately taken by the unfamiliar sight. His eyes slowly widened in shock as he stared down at himself.
A broad, modular chestplate met his gaze. He blinked owlishly at it for a moment, before raising his hands to his eyes.
He stiffened as his surprised expression gave way to shock.
They'd been completely replaced. Servos fastened with bolts comprised the joints of his new fingers and elbows, and yet more modular plates covered the length of them, their shared mould broad and muscular-appearing. A circular light sat in the middle of each of his palms, and he noticed small grooves resembling handprints—his handprints—over the plates covering them.
Slowly, organically, his hands turned around, and on the back of each he saw a pair of plates shaped to resemble knuckles.
He brought his trembling hands together, one over the other, as if hoping to stimulate some sensation of feeling in them.
Tink.
He felt numb.