The Order of Broken Things

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Heroes die when their hearts stop. I died the day mine kept beating.

.

.

.

Darkness.
That's the first thing I feel — not see, feel.
It presses against my skin like wet cloth, thick and endless.
Then the smell hits me.
Metal. Sweat. Blood gone stale.

I try to move.
Chains answer.

Cold iron bites into my wrists, locks me to the chair.
Every breath rasps like it's scraping my lungs.
I don't remember sitting down.
I don't remember anything.

And then—
a voice.

Soft. Small.
Cutting through the dark like a blade through silk.

"Izuku..."

My heart stops.
No one calls me that anymore.
Not here. Not since the day the world died.But she said Izuku.

I lift my head.
At the far end of the room, where the shadows loosen just enough to shape a silhouette, stands a girl.
Barefoot.
Dress pale as ash.
Hair white, eyes red, too bright for this place.

And she's crying.

"... please... help me."

The sound tears through me.
I pull at the chains until they slice open my wrists, but I don't care.
I have to reach her.
I have to.

Then I see what lies between us.

Bodies.
Stacked. Twisted. Familiar.

****'s face cold, smile still carved on her lips.
******'s mask cracked, hand reaching out but never touching mine.
******* under a pile of steel, her goggles shattered, one lens staring back at me.
Mom—
Oh god.

She's sitting among them.
Eyes open.
Looking right at me.

I choke on her name, but the sound won't come out.
The room is too full of whispers.
Too full of guilt.

"No," I manage, shaking my head, "this isn't real. You're not—"

The girl takes a step forward, trembling.
Then the darkness behind her moves.

Hands.
Dozens of them.
White, vein-thin, clawing out of the black — grabbing her shoulders, her legs, her face.

"Run!" I scream. "Don't look back!"

She reaches for me.
For a second, our eyes meet — and I see the same terror I used to see in mirrors.

"Izuku—!"

Then she's gone.
Dragged into the dark by too many hands to count.

I jerk forward.

Chains snap against the chair.
My wrists split open.
Pain flashes white.

The voices don't stop.
They crawl into my skull, whispering over each other until one drowns the rest.

Why didn't you save me?

A hand slides out of the dark behind me.
Cold fingers close around my throat.
I try to breathe, but the air turns to glass.
I claw at the grip, kick the floor, the world folding in on itself.

I can't see.

Can't move.

Can't—

— — —

My body jerks like it's been shocked.

I'm sitting upright before I even realize I'm awake.
My hands are shaking.
Breath ragged.
My throat burns like I've been screaming for hours, but the room is silent.

The air here smells different.
Damp concrete, rust, the sour bite of old electricity.
A faint hum comes from somewhere behind the walls.
For a moment, I don't move.
If I stay still enough, maybe the nightmare won't notice I left.

But the blood on my palms is real.
Crimson against the fading scars of my skin.
Same pattern as the dream — wrists torn raw.
Same ache in my chest.

I drag myself out of bed.
The floor is cold metal under bare feet.
One of the ceiling lights flickers weakly, throwing long, nervous shadows across the room.
There's no sound except my heartbeat, steady and angry.

I pass the cracked mirror by the sink.
I don't like looking, but I do it anyway.

A stranger stares back.
Messy curls.
Dark circles under dull green eyes.
Scars crossing his jaw and neck like someone tried to erase him and gave up halfway.

I splash cold water on it.

Doesn't help.
Never does.

A part of me wants to laugh.
All these years pretending not to care, killing monsters in the dark, and I still wake up like a scared kid.

I look down at my hands again.
There's blood under my nails. Not from anyone else this time — mine.

"So I'm still here."

I glance at the table — scraps of armor, half-fixed gloves, a mask cracked down a bit.

Beside them, a battered notebook filled with names.
Some are crossed out in red.
Some aren't.

A faint beep breaks the silence.
The small comm device on the wall flashes once — a coded signal.

I wipe my palms on my pants and press the receiver.
A voice filters through static.

"New lead. Human-trafficking hub. Abandoned sector twelve. You in, Deku?"

For a moment, I don't answer.
The name sits heavy on my tongue.
The one they gave me.Finally, I reach for my mask, fitting it over my face.

"Send the coordinates," I say.