Izuku's first person view
It's been over a month since I was taken to this place-a hellish nightmare I can't wake up from. My body feels like it's not even mine anymore. They've injected me with so many chemicals, enhancers they call them, but I don't feel enhanced. I feel like a puppet on strings, ready to snap at any moment.
Dr. Kuroki... I've heard whispers about him before, in the dark corners of the city where heroes rarely tread. A mad scientist, a ghost story parents tell their kids to make them behave. Except he's real. He's real, and he's the one who's turning me into something else, something monstrous.
Dr kuroki:subject 13, today we're going to test the new serum. It should increase your muscle mass by 50%
Dr. Kuroki's voice is always so calm, so matter-of-fact, as if what he's doing to me isn't wrong.
Dr kuroki:Don't worry, this won't hurt as much as the last one. You're getting stronger, Izuku. Soon, you'll be the perfect weapon.
He injects the serum into my arm. The pain is immediate, a burning sensation that spreads through my veins like wildfire. I want to scream, but I don't. Screaming never helps. It only makes them smile, and I won't give them that satisfaction.
Dr kuroki:Let's see how your body adapts
Kuroki murmurs, stepping back to observe. I'm strapped to the table, unable to move, as the pain intensifies. My muscles feel like they're tearing apart, reforming, stretching beyond their limits. My skin feels like it's going to split open, but it doesn't. It never does. I survive, because that's what they've programmed me to do.
Survive.
The days blur together. Or maybe it's weeks. Time doesn't exist here, not really. They wake me up, they inject me with something new, they watch me scream and writhe, and then they put me back to sleep. They want to make me into a weapon, a tool to kill All Might, the very person I looked up to. The irony isn't lost on me.
Sometimes, in the dark of the night when the lab is quiet and they think I'm unconscious, I let myself dream. I dream of my family coming to save me, of my dad smashing through the walls with his quirk, fire blazing. I imagine my mom holding me, telling me it's going to be okay. I even dream of All Might, his smile shining like the sun, telling me that everything will be alright because he's here.
But those dreams always shatter when I wake up. I'm alone. No one's coming.
They've made sure I know that.
Dr kuroki:Subject 13, how are you feeling today?
Dr. Kuroki's voice snaps me back to the present. He's standing over me, clipboard in hand, his eyes gleaming with something close to curiosity. Or maybe it's pride.
"I'm fine," I manage to croak out, though my voice is hoarse. I'm not fine. I'm anything but fine. But what else can I say? Complaining won't stop them. It never does.
Dr kuroki:Good, good. You're adapting well to the treatments. I have to admit, I was skeptical at first, but you're proving to be quite resilient. The One Above All quirk should take nicely.
The One Above All... I've heard them talk about it, but I still don't fully understand what it is. All I know is that they're going to put it inside me, and then I won't be me anymore. I'll be something else. Something dangerous.
"Please..." The word slips out before I can stop it. My voice is small, broken.
Izuku:Please... don't do this...
Dr. Kuroki pauses, tilting his head as if considering my plea.
Dr kuroki:Izuku, you have to understand, this is bigger than you. You're going to be part of something incredible. You'll have a power unlike anything the world has ever seen. Isn't that what you wanted? To be powerful? To be special?
Izuku:I just wanted... to be a hero...
My voice cracks. I can feel the tears welling up, but I hold them back. Tears won't help me here.
"A hero?" Kuroki laughs softly, shaking his head.
Dr kuroki:Oh, Izuku, heroes are just tools for the powerful. You'll see that soon enough. You'll be more than a hero. You'll be a god among men.
He leaves me then, alone with my thoughts, with the pain, with the knowledge that there's no escape. No one's coming for me. Not my family, not All Might, no one.
I'm nothing.
They've broken me.
The moment they realized my body was adapting to their twisted experiments, something shifted in their demeanor. They no longer looked at me like a subject. No, I had become something much worse-a pet, an animal to be trained, to be tested, to be broken down further than I already was.
"My, my, look at this. The kid's adapting faster than we thought,"
one of the men commented, his voice tinged with a twisted excitement.
"Yeah, but you see the state he's in?"
another one added, almost with a sneer.
"Completely broken, dead inside. He'll do anything for those damn pills now."
Their words washed over me, but I barely registered them. I was on my knees, my body trembling, the hunger for those pills gnawing at my insides. I needed them. They had forced them down my throat at first, making me choke on the bitterness, but now... now I couldn't live without them. I couldn't think of anything else.
"Should we double the dosage?"
one of them asked, a sick grin spreading across his face.
"Yeah, you're right,"
another replied.
"Let's see how far this animal can go."
They tossed a handful of pills in front of me-at least forty of them, far more than what they usually gave me. My body moved on its own, my hands scrambling against the cold floor, shoving the pills into my mouth. I didn't care about the taste, the bitterness that made me want to retch. I just needed them. I had to have them.
The men watched me with sick amusement, like they were watching a circus animal perform. One of them even gave me a sharp kick to the stomach, but I barely flinched. The pain was nothing compared to the desperation, the need that consumed me.
"Look at this animal,"
one of them sneered.
"He's already hooked."
Another hand grabbed the back of my head, yanking me up so I was forced to look at them. I could barely see through the tears, my hand still stretching out, trembling as I tried to reach for the remaining pills scattered on the floor.
Izuku:P-please... let me... h-have them...
I choked out, my voice weak, broken.
"What did you say?"
The man holding me tilted his head, as if he hadn't heard me correctly.
Izuku:Please... please... I'll do anything...
They laughed, the sound harsh and cruel in my ears, but I didn't care. The moment they released me, I dove back to the floor, shoving the rest of the pills into my mouth, swallowing them down without a second thought. The relief was immediate, the chemicals coursing through my veins like a twisted form of comfort.
"Now then,"
one of them said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
"Let's see how far this freak can go."
They dragged me to another room, a place I had become all too familiar with-their torture chamber. This room was designed for one purpose: to break me, to push my body to the limits and beyond.
PLUS ULTRA
They strapped me down to a cold, metal table, the restraints digging into my wrists and ankles. I didn't resist. What was the point? Resistance only made things worse. I had learned that the hard way.
They started with electricity, attaching wires to my chest and arms, sending shockwaves through my body. My muscles seized up, my body convulsing uncontrollably as the volts surged through me. The pain was unbearable, but I didn't scream. I had learned to hold it in, to swallow the pain and bury it deep down where it couldn't hurt me anymore.
But they didn't stop there. They cranked up the voltage, watching as my body jerked violently against the restraints. I could feel my heart racing, the rhythm erratic and painful. I was sure it would give out any second, but it didn't. They had made sure I was too strong to die that easily.
"Let's see if he can handle more,"
one of them said, his voice filled with twisted glee.
Next, they brought out the knives-razor-sharp blades that they dragged across my skin, cutting deep enough to scar but not enough to kill. They wanted to see how fast I could heal, how much pain I could endure before I finally broke.
They cut into my arms, my legs, my chest, leaving deep, jagged scars in their wake. I could feel the blood pooling around me, sticky and warm, but I didn't care. The pain was distant, like it belonged to someone else.
"Still conscious, huh?"
one of them remarked, sounding almost impressed
"Let's see if we can change that."
They moved on to the fire next. A blowtorch aimed directly at my skin, the flames searing my flesh, burning away any remaining humanity I had left. The smell of burning skin filled the room, a sickening scent that made my stomach churn, but I didn't throw up. I couldn't. My body was too numb, too broken to react.
"Come on, Izuku,"
one of them taunted, leaning in close enough that I could see the madness in his eyes.
"Scream. Just scream, and we'll make it stop."
But I didn't scream. I couldn't. The pain was too much, too overwhelming, but I held it in. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, letting it drip down my chin. They weren't going to get that satisfaction from me. Not anymore.
"Damn, he's tougher than we thought,"
one of them said, almost sounding annoyed.
"Guess we'll have to step it up."
They injected me with another serum, something that made my blood feel like it was boiling, like it was trying to tear through my veins. My vision blurred, my body spasming violently as the serum worked its way through me. The pain was indescribable, like every nerve in my body was on fire, but I didn't pass out. They wouldn't let me.
"Looks like he's reaching his limit,"
one of them remarked, checking my vitals.
"But he's not done yet."
They weren't satisfied until I was a broken, bleeding mess on the table, my body covered in burns, cuts, and bruises. They left me there, strapped down, unable to move, unable to think. The only thing I could do was breathe, shallow, ragged breaths that hurt with every inhale.
But they weren't done with me. No, this was just the beginning. The real torture was yet to come, and they were going to enjoy every second of it.
I was nothing more than a plaything to them, something to be used, to be experimented on until there was nothing left. They were going to break me down, piece by piece, until I was nothing more than a weapon, a tool for them to use as they pleased.
And the worst part? I was starting to believe them.
I was starting to believe that I was nothing.
That I was worth nothing.
That I deserved this.
And that realization was
They were right
The only thing that kept me going-the only thing I was fed-were those damned pills. I knew what they were doing to me, why they kept feeding them to me. It wasn't just to keep me alive; it was to make me dependent, to hook me so deeply that I couldn't function without them. I could see it in their eyes every time they watched me scramble for another dose, the smug satisfaction of knowing they were turning me into their slave. And the worst part? It was working.
They didn't bother with food anymore. I was fed purely on those pills, and my body craved them more and more each day. They had become my lifeline, the only thing that dulled the pain and made the experiments bearable. It was a sick, twisted cycle-pain followed by relief, relief followed by more pain. And every time, I needed more pills to get through it.
But this time was different. They had entered a new phase in their experiments-a third phase, they called it. Whatever hope I had left of escaping, of being rescued, was slipping away, drowned by the constant waves of agony and desperation.
"We're in the third phase now,"
one of the scientists said, his voice devoid of any empathy.
"Time to push his body to its absolute limits."
I was strapped down to the table again, my wrists and ankles secured by thick metal restraints. They had learned by now that my strength was increasing, that I was becoming more dangerous, more unpredictable. But I was still nothing compared to them. I was still their prisoner.
They started with the injections. This time, the syringes were larger, filled with a sickly green fluid that glowed faintly in the dim light. They didn't bother to numb the area; they just plunged the needles into my veins, one after another, until I lost count. The fluid burned as it entered my bloodstream, making my skin feel like it was on fire from the inside out.
I clenched my teeth, biting down on my lip until it bled, but I didn't scream. I couldn't give them that satisfaction, no matter how much I wanted to. The pain was excruciating, like my entire body was being ripped apart and put back together in a way that didn't make sense. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably, my back arching off the table as the fluids worked their way through me.
"Look at him go,"
one of the scientists remarked, his voice tinged with a sick amusement.
"He's still holding on. Impressive."
But they weren't done. No, the injections were just the beginning.
"Let's see how his bones hold up,"
another scientist said, approaching with a new set of tools-thick metal rods, hammers, and clamps. My heart pounded in my chest, dread coiling in my stomach. I had no idea what they were planning, but I knew it was going to hurt.
They started with my legs. They clamped down on my thighs, holding them in place as one of the scientists positioned a metal rod over my knee. Without warning, he brought the hammer down, smashing the rod into my kneecap. The pain was instant, a white-hot explosion that shot up my leg and into my brain. I couldn't hold back the scream that tore from my throat, my entire body convulsing against the restraints.
"Good, good,"
the scientist muttered, adjusting the rod before bringing the hammer down again. And again. And again.
They shattered my kneecap into pieces, grinding the bone fragments into my flesh. But they didn't stop there. They moved on to the other leg, repeating the process until both of my knees were destroyed, leaving me a sobbing, broken mess on the table.
"Now for the arms,"
one of them said, almost casually, as if he were discussing the weather.
They clamped down on my arms next, repeating the same brutal process. Metal rods, hammers, and an unending cycle of pain. They shattered my elbows, my wrists, even the bones in my fingers. Each hit sent shockwaves of agony through my body, but I couldn't stop them. I was helpless, trapped in a nightmare that had no end.
The worst part was hearing them talk-calm, clinical, as if what they were doing to me was just another day at work. As if I wasn't even human.
"He's healing faster now,"
one of the scientists noted, almost with a hint of admiration
. "His body is adapting to the damage."
"Then we need to push him harder,"
another replied.
"If he can heal from this, we need to find his breaking point."
They weren't just satisfied with breaking my bones. No, they wanted to test my entire body-my organs, my nerves, my brain. They wanted to see how much I could take before I finally gave out.
They brought out the electricity again, attaching wires to my chest, my head, even my spine. The shocks were more intense this time, jolting through my nervous system with a force that made my vision blur. My heart stuttered, my breathing becoming shallow and ragged as the volts coursed through me. I could feel my brain scrambling, neurons misfiring as they overloaded my senses.
But they didn't stop. They cranked up the voltage, watching as I convulsed on the table, my muscles seizing up in uncontrollable spasms. I couldn't even scream anymore; my throat was raw, my voice gone. All I could do was gasp, desperate for air, as they continued to torture me.
"His brain waves are spiking,"
one of the scientists noted, almost with excitement.
"He's on the verge of a seizure."
"Let's see if we can push him into one," another replied, adjusting the settings on the machine.
The electricity surged again, and my body went rigid. My vision darkened, my thoughts scattering as the pain became too much. I was teetering on the edge of consciousness, barely aware of the world around me.
But they weren't satisfied. They wanted to see more. They wanted to break me completely.
They injected me with more chemicals, flooding my system with toxins designed to shut down my organs, to see how long it would take before my body started to fail. My heart struggled to keep up, the rhythm faltering, becoming more erratic with each passing second. My lungs burned, each breath a battle, as the toxins took their toll.
But they didn't stop. They never stopped.
They moved on to my nerves next, testing my pain threshold with a series of injections that targeted my spinal cord. The pain was beyond anything I had ever experienced-sharp, burning, like my entire body was being torn apart from the inside out. Every nerve was on fire, every inch of my skin ached, and yet I couldn't pass out. They wouldn't let me.
"Let's see how his mind holds up," one of them said, almost with a hint of curiosity.
They brought out a new device-a helmet that they strapped onto my head, wires connecting it to the rest of the equipment. I had no idea what it was for, but I knew it wasn't good. Nothing they did to me was ever good.
The moment they activated it, a sharp pain shot through my skull, like someone had driven a spike into my brain. My thoughts scattered, my memories flashing before my eyes in rapid succession, too fast for me to grasp onto any of them. It was like my mind was being ripped apart, dissected piece by piece, until there was nothing left but raw, primal fear.
"Fascinating," one of the scientists murmured, observing the readings
"He's resisting. His brain is trying to fight back."
"Let's see how long that lasts,"
another replied, turning up the intensity.
The pain doubled, tripled, until I couldn't think anymore. All I could do was scream, the sound echoing in my own mind, as the device tore through my memories, my thoughts, everything that made me who I was. They were breaking me down, reducing me to nothing more than a shell, an empty vessel for them to control.
And it was working.
I could feel myself slipping away, my sense of self fading with each passing second. I was losing myself, becoming something else-something they had created, something they had shaped through pain and suffering.
But I couldn't stop it. I was powerless, helpless to resist as they stripped away everything I was, leaving nothing but the raw, broken remnants of a boy who had once dreamed of being a hero.
And in that moment, I realized... I wasn't a hero. I wasn't even a person anymore.
I was their weapon.
Their creation.
Their slave.
And there was no escape from it.