Searing pain is the first thing he feels as the strands of consciousness wrap around his addled mind. His breathing is loud to his ears, as if echoing through the space around him. It made him excruciatingly aware of his own racing heart, beating against his ribcage like a cornered animal.
His thoughts falter as memories flood his mind, flashes of incomplete images; a puzzle his mind can't seem to solve. Harsh neon lights, still vivid in his head.
He remembers the cold, can still feel it if he concentrates enough as if he's still strapped to the icy metal table. Arms and legs thrashing against the restraints keeping him from moving. Keeping him from struggling, escaping his cruel captivity. Multiple Doctors flit around the room casually, whispers following their wake.
He should feel scared, he should be fighting against a crippling panic as it threatens to pull him into an endless abyss of doubt and fear. The heavy realization that he's not safe. Not in control.
He doesn't feel it. In fact, he feels nothing at all.
Blinking repeatedly, he waits for his eyes to adjust to the obscurity. The sound of clinking metal alerts him of the shackles wrapped tightly around his wrist, chaining him to the wall behind him. The manacles dig into his skin, scraping his wrists raw. He finds himself marveling at the pain, fascinated by the little bit of feeling he gets when he moves his wrists. He almost yearns for that little thread that ties him to the waking world. Proving that he is, in fact, still alive. Still feeling something. Anything at all.
It's with a mesmerizing kind of disassociation that he looks down on himself. Someone would even go as far as to describe it as bored, dispassionate as he takes in the numerous gashes and cuts that mare his pale skin. A myriad of colors decorates his body, blues, and purples mixing against swollen skin as if paint on a canvas. The tints ruminating the treatment they'd given him during his hours of captivity.
Raising a slow but steady hand towards his face, he's not surprised to find bandages wrapped around one of his eyes. The lack of depth in his vision made it clear that something was missing.
Abruptly, light filters into the room as the metal door creaks open. The brightness burns his eye, as if commanding him to shy away, to bow his head and hide. Nonetheless, he doesn't move. Instead, with searing eyes, he watches through the blurry spots in his eyesight as a man walks into his cell.
The man's gate is straight, confirming his military affiliation. Brown hair cropped close to his skull, dark, grey eyes serious despite the smirk that stretches his features.
"Ah, finally awake, then?" The man says the moment his eyes land on Izuku's crumpled figure on the floor. Amusement, sly and malicious, clear in his tone. "I was wondering if we'd have to use more forceful measures." When Izuku doesn't react, he continues. "I suppose you must be wondering what we did to you." Only silence greets his inquiry but it seems to only spur him on. A grin stretched his features into something almost cruelly proud. "Yes, that's what I expected. Well, if it's all the same to you, you can go ahead and follow me out of here."
As if on command, the shackles adorning his abused hands loosen their hold and open. Giving the camera hanging in the corner of the room a suspicious look, he walks after the man. He only has a moment to brace himself for the pain that erupts through his form with every move he makes.
He follows dutifully, only stopping when he encounters a reflective window as he follows the doctor. His reflection looks back at him, his eyes sweep over his matted green hair, the new bruises and injuries he's sustained. The sight of his face, however, makes him pause.
"Oh, silly me, did I forget to mention that? Well, go ahead then. "The scientist drawls. When Izuku doesn't give any indication of understanding, he elaborates. "Do I need to spell it out for you boy? Take the bloody thing off."
Almost tentatively he unravels the white bands, faltering at the sight he's greeted with. Instead of his usual green, emerald eye, he finds pale, icy blue. Specks of yellows streak inside his iris, as if a current of electricity floating through the folds.
A part of him wants to scream, another wants to know what the hell did they do to him. The moment that line of questioning rises in his mind, a searing hot flash of pain echoes deep within him.
When the pain subsides, the doctor is once again urging him to follow. Any inquiry about his well-being is long forgotten as he strides behind the man. The last of the metaphorical shackles click into place with the teen none the wiser.
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Shinsou doesn't know what to think anymore. His mind is going through the endless possible reasons justifying the empty seat behind him. He tries to be rational about it, really, he does. However, the more he thinks about it, about the painfully vacant chair behind him, the more he's anxious.
When did he start worrying about other people? When did he begin feeling anything but utter indifference and slight annoyance for the people around him?
He needed to calm down. Akatani was probably just out with a cold. Yeah, that seemed logical enough.
Except, if he thinks about it, no common cold would make someone miss four days of school, except if it was something serious, which brings a whole new set of worries to his mind.
He's probably just overthinking again, Akatani was fine, in fact, he'll walk through these doors at any moment. With his rigid, constantly vigilant posture and his regal, all too formal sentences.
Shinsou had other things to worry about anyway. Namely, the sports festival that was in just two weeks' time. It was his chance to prove himself and move up into the hero course. He'd be damned if he let the chance slip away.
He would join the hero course, no matter what.
__________________________________
"Would you please, stop pacing?" A voice drawls, tone almost cold as he follows his coworker's movements across the room. "This is getting ridiculous Hizashi." They were currently holed up in the UA conference room, waiting for the detective, Nezu, and the other teachers to show up. The principal said he had new information for them.
"How could you be so calm?! A student is missing!" At Aizawa's leveled glare, Hizashi rushes to defend his reasoning. "He could be! All his father sent was an email saying there was some kind of family emergency! After what happened at the USJ, aren't you the least bit worried?"
"The kid's not even in the hero course, he has absolutely nothing to do with the attack on the USJ mic. Besides, I'm more concerned about the boy who crashed the fight."
At this, the other teacher seemed to sober up. His expression turned somber as he was reminded, once again, how close to dying his best friend actually got. "He saved you, that's all I need to know."
"How about the fact that he couldn't have been older than our students, yet possessed the fighting abilities of a veteran hero." After a moment of contemplation, he adds. "Hizashi, you should've seen the way he moved, the way he fought. I've never seen anything like it."
"Yes, you probably wouldn't have." A perky voice calls out suddenly, making both of them start at the unexpected intrusion. "You've never been to war, after all." The small rodent continues casually as he walks up to the seat at the head of the table, his steps quickly followed by the detective, along with the rest of the teachers.
"What do you mean?" He's dreading the answer. Mind already coming up with possible instances.
Instead of deeming them with a response, the principal proceeds to pull up the retractable screen, clicking a button on the far edge of the desk to turn on the monitor and dim the lights. By then, the majority of the staff has already taken a seat, eyes all directed at the screen ahead.
The screen blinks into life, a video clip begins just as the display comes into focus. On a sandy and ravaged open space, soldiers run in every direction. The person recording breathes heavily as they run, the lens going every which way all at once. A giveaway to the chaos happening on the other side. The utter state of panic and fear seems to encompass all the individuals on screen.
The sound of gunfire is the only thing that's constant as the men on display fight for survival. Some seem to choose to flee, their eyes widening as if something approaches ahead of them.
They watch as one man falls after the other. A shadow seemingly morphing out of empty space and wasting every living thing in its wake.
It's chilling, sitting there, watching soldiers get taken down like flies. To Aizawa, their opposing uniforms mean absolutely nothing. They were soldiers, human beings whose only fault was fighting for their country.
The shaking of the cam intensifies as the shadow rounds on the man himself. It was his turn and it petrified him.
His scream rings only for a moment, the kill having been swift and efficient. Yet, it echoes around the room even after Nezu pauses the video. The rodent proceeds to put the picture through multiple screening processes until out of the shadows, out of the blurriness, emerges a figure.
The image is indistinct, sand and dust encompass the space like a blanket. Blood covers the dunes in puddles, one would go as to describe it as freshly fallen snow on a mountainside if not for the morbid contrast. One thing is clear, however, amongst the carnage and chaos that prevails the shot before them, is a shock of white hair.
Familiar white hair.
"After some investigation, we believe that this is the boy who came to your and your student's aid a couple of days ago." Another picture pops up, this once slightly clearer than the other, this time it's in a forest. The boy's back is turned to the camera, his armor, however, is unmistakable. The midnight black contrasts strongly with his hair as he stands there, surrounded by fire and fallen bodies. "In the military world, he is known as the Arctic wolf."
"So he's a solider. Why would he interfere with a villain attack?" Mic voices the question in everyone's mind.
"That's where things get interesting Yamada-san, our friend here isn't a normal soldier. In fact, other than his infamous code name and the legends his actions have produced, he is a complete unknown. No registration, no file to read through, we don't even know his real name. For all the world knows, Arctic wolf doesn't exist."
"How is that possible, anyone who enlists in the military needs to be registered, there has to be some kind of record that has the information we need," Aizawa says, incredulity evident in his voice despite the neutral tone.
"That's what I thought too, Eraser," Tsukauchi, who has been silent until now, says, as he opens a couple of folders that were previously tucked into his brown briefcase. "However, after extensive, and I mean extensive research, we discovered that the legends surrounding Arctic weren't recent at all. In fact, the earliest sighting of the boy was approximately three years ago."
"Three years ago, that can't be true!" Aizawa can't help but interrupt, dread pooling in waves in his stomach at the implications behind the detective's statement. "If your information is accurate, that means the military sent a child to war. The kid I saw at the USJ couldn't be older than my own first years!"
"I fear, Aizawa-san that you are right. Artic's reputation started to spread three years ago but we don't know for sure how long he'd been in military custody before that. Given his skill set and his unmistakable weapon and combat training, it is very likely he's been under military tutelage for even longer."
"We can't let them do this! Shouldn't we be heading there and stopping them! They're making child soldiers!" Vlad bursts out, his voice grave, as if he couldn't stay quiet anymore.
"This is a delicate matter, I'm afraid. We have no substantial evidence that could hold in court. This information is speculation at best. To take on the military would be taking on the government. We would be wise to remember that." Nedzu's voice is pleasant but his eyes speak of a reckoning to come.
"What's the plan then?" Aizawa asks, because Nedzu always had a plan. There was no question about it. So his surprise is justified when all the principal says is;
"We wait."
"Wait?" Midnight echoes, her indignation palpable. She never was one to stand by as a child suffered. None of them were.
"It was by no mere coincidence that the military sent out one of their best assets the same day UA gets attacked. There is something bigger happening here, we just don't have the full picture yet. We need to wait, I believe our answers will present themselves soon enough."
"You think Arctic was there to protect the students?" It would make sense, the kid fought and saved them but-
"No, his intervention was too sudden, from both the student's accounts and your own, I believe his objective was to observe and report. His decision to help was most likely made by his own resolve."
"Well, I for one, am glad for it. Aizawa would've died that day without him. Any of the students would've probably suffered the same fate." Yamada amends, his voice bearing no hint of hesitation.
The solemn nods the teachers give, serve to confirm his declaration.
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Midoriya and the doctor, both stood in front of a big office door. The wood was old, carved with the markings of time, despite its deep flawlessly dark color. The doctor knocked once, his back standing straighter than it had a few seconds ago.
"Enter." A cold, familiar voice spoke through the barrier, clear despite the distance.
The doctor stepped in first, Izuku followed only a moment later, the doors once again closing behind them.
"Doctor Harper, I take it the experiment was successful?" The voice called the moment they entered. There, seated behind a handsomely dark, antique desk, sat a man.
Memories played on a loop in his mind. Years of training and fighting. Flashes of crimson and raging fire, followed by death and destruction. Shaking his head, trying to dispel the visions rushing to the forefront of his mind, he focused back on reality.
"Indeed they were, Colonel Axel." The scientist answered evenly. "I must say, you rose through the ranks pretty quickly."
"Yes, yes, now, let's get back to the matter at hand." Axel glared at the man, ignoring Izuku's presence completely as he spoke. He never did consider him anything other than a weapon, a tool to use when needed, to be discarded afterward. "I believe a presentation is in order, don't you think?"
"What did you have in mind, Colonel?" The doctor asked cautiously, already familiar with Axel's twisted form of thinking.
Instead of deeming the man with an answer, the Colonel elected to open one of the drawers of his desk. Hand rummaging through its fold for a moment before pulling out a small revolver. Its grip was worn from use, despite this, it seemed to be in pristine condition.
"How about a quick game of Russian Roulette."
"Are you sure this is wise? He's a child." And at the man's unimpressed stare, the doctor plowed on. "The general will not tolerate needlessly injuring his best agent."
"What the Dragon doesn't know..." With that, that the man held out the gun towards the teen. "Artic, you are to shoot yourself." The command was said in a monotone voice, bored and casual. As if the man was discussing the weather.
Midoriya who has been observing the interaction between the two only blinked at the weapon. Staring at the man with a peculiar kind of detachment. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reached for the firearm. His fingers slid into position on the grip, with a familiarity that spoke of years of experience. Cocking the hammer until a snap could be heard, he raised the gun to his temple. Pain pierced his spine for only a moment before the feeling dwindled to nothing.
His body didn't feel like his own, his limbs moved methodically, while his mind remained painfully empty. As if he was disconnected from his own emotions, his own free will.
His finger ghosted the trigger guard only for a second. His actions were immediate and with no hesitation as he pulled the trigger. A resounding click echoed through the room, loud in the silence that seemed to prevail.
Laughter, loud and cruel burst from the Colonel's throat. His joy was lost on the teen completely. The doctor had an odd expression on his features as if torn between relief and guilt as he looked between the two other occupants of the room.
Izuku, in contrast, felt nothing at all.