The Price of Information

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He stood tall, movements slowed as though he were trapped in a bottomless ocean. Armor encasing him, helmet tightly affixed to his head. Eyes staring in a single direction. Three bloodied chairs that sat in front of him. Although bags concealed the blood soaked figures he could tell who they were.

Still he could not take a step forward. Anchored in place. OFA not activating, gun not raising, and eyes unblinking. Bags torn off their heads, only confirming their identities.

Their bodies mangled beyond recognition, arms twisted in unhuman angles, skin decayed, their eyes all pleading... but none more so than her's. "Save me!" they screamed through the gags placed inside their mouths. Muffled painful screams echoing in his ears.

He could not turn his head or block the sound. He could only watch as they wailed.

"Izuku! Help us!"



They all screamed. Tears welling in his eyes. Arms not responding to his command, shaking as he exerted all the strength he could. Something would not allow him to reach outward. He could not comfort the bloodied face of his daughter, hold the woman who he had longed for, or usher his true mentor onto their feet. Voice failing to escape his mouth.


Spinner, Shigaraki, Dabi, Compress, Kurogiri... all of them. Standing behind the chairs with Shigaraki shushing the three with a finger on his mouth. His raspy voice was one that he could never forget. Reaching for his gun, he tried with all his might to stop the scene that had began to play out before him. They did not hesitate.

Aizawa was the first to scream in pain. His face being peeled off with the small slender blade, held in the tight grip of Spinner. The villain slowly sawing, the skin, the muscle of his mentor's face. The teacher, the hero, could not stop screaming. He watched as Spinner carved deeper and deeper, blood gushing from the wound, the sinewy muscle fibers exposing themselves, a sadistic display.

His hand had barely reached the handle of his gun when Aizawa's scream was joined by Nemuri's. The hero... she... he was forced to watch as they recreated the horror they subjected his mother to. Her refusal only apparent in the desperate struggles to escape from the grip Compress and Dabi held on her. Her tear filled eyes never leaving his as they... violated her.

His arm raised, still far too low to get a clean shot. Still too slow to stop Shigaraki from approaching Eri. The child's snow-white hair dirtied, face bruised, all while parts of her skin decayed away, blowing in the non-existent wind. From behind Shigaraki's hands placed on the girl's arms, fingers slowly eating away at her flesh. Body thrashing violently.

"P-PAPA! PAPA IT HURTS! PAPA!" She screamed so loudly, eardrums threatening to burst.

His gun had raised, he aimed, finger squeezing the trigger.




Three empty clicks, no round chambered. His gun was empty. A laugh came from Shigaraki, the ma- no the monster, cackling with glee.

He continued to pull the trigger trying in vain to stop Shigaraki's hands from coiling around Eri's neck, to stop the violation of Nemuri, to stop Aizawa's torture, but he failed. Eyes capturing Eri's broken outstretched hand reaching to him.

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