A million thoughts race through your head as you look down at your bloody hands. You sit in a dark and cold interrogation room with tight cuffs on your wrists. There is a desk in front of you, but you’re all alone in this room. you eventually hear footsteps and the door opens. A police officer walks in and gives you a cold glare, before sitting in the desk across from you. He flips through some paper work, and begins to ask questions.

“Name and quirk..?”

(You are Shoto in this.)