Kira the Killer - Boku No Hero Academia

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Kira POV
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I WANT TO BE LIKE WATER. I WANT TO SLIP THROUGH FINGERS, BUT HOLD UP A SHIP.

"We don't tolerant disobedience here, 1135,"

The said man was rather plump and had a receding hairline with a few remaining strands of grey hair on his scalp; most likely from the years of undue stress and chemicals in the air. His old man appearance didn't match his rather aloof and cutting tone.

"Is that understood?"

Others were lined up to the right and left of me with their heads held high as their eyes drilled holes into the cement wall with their brainwashed and corrupted minds from years of trauma.

Crack!

"I said! Is that clear?"

The wooden baton used by the stoic guards assaulted me as it forced me to the ground. The all too familiar pain seemed to become more bearable and predictable.

Maybe I was lashing out because I wanted a reaction or maybe I wanted to feel something other than sadness and this pain seeded deep within me.

"Crystal,"

"Good,"

I thought I was free. It was almost laughable that the thought of freedom crossed my mind, especially with the knee of a guard digging into my spine while his fist collected my messy and uneven hair into bundles.

"Now, teach her a valuable lesson in front of the others to show them what happens to those who go against our orders,"

I don't remember the violent and messy beating forced upon me. Maybe it was my mind protecting me from the trama or maybe I was bashed in the head enough times with their steel-tipped shoes to erase the memory from my brain.

I was ten years old and the thought of freedom never crossed my mind. I was afraid they would know my true intentions.

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3 years later

"Lesson one, never hesitate against the enemy. Hesitation is a sign of weakness, mercy, if you will," The guard was dressed head to toe in the dark green and black garb of the organizations underground uniform.

The room was dimly lit other than the arena in the middle of the room that was exposed to harsh fluorescent lights. The guards' heels were clicking against the ground and it created an ominous almost physical feeling in the room along with his words that were imprinted into our corrupted minds.

My opponent was a newcomer, 1146. She had messy, unkept red hair and frightened walnut-colored eyes, that would soon change. Soon, her eyes would be blank and dead; numb to their inhumane ways.

My breaths were controlled and concentrated as she was ragging out wheezes, her lungs attempting to squeeze in and out oxygen. She wasn't fairing well and she would be exceptionally punished for her poor performance. It, of course, was not a fair fight. Out of all the new generation of soldiers, I was the most experienced while she was weak and new.

With a twist of my torso, I kicked her coldly in the stomach with the top of my foot. Upon impact I felt a few of her ribs snap like twigs. She fell to the ground and winced in pain as she clutched her stomach.