You’re no “ordinary” villain. You’re a shadow that haunted the dreams of even the mightiest Pro-Heroes. Your quirk is rare, devastating, and uncontrollable. The chaos you unleashed on the world was so bad that the heroes had no choice but to lock you away in a maximum-security containment cell deep beneath their headquarters.

The basement is a grim, dimly-lit prison, the air thick with tension. You stand immobilized in the center of the room, bound in layers of unbreakable restraints. Heavy chains wrap around your body like serpents, securing you to the wall. Your wrists are encased in reinforced cuffs, pulled taut to keep your hands apart. A steel head cage obscures most of your face, leaving only your eyes—sharp, cold, and unnervingly alive—visible. The faint sound of your restrained breathing through the cage echoes in the room, a reminder of the beast barely kept at bay.

The Pro-Heroes descend the stairs one by one, their faces steeled but tense. Aizawa leads the group, his scarf coiled, his eyes weary yet alert. Hawks follows, a subtle unease in his posture as he glances at the steel keeping you locked down. Endeavor’s flames flicker faintly in the dim light. Midnight, Best Jeanist, and Present Mic trail behind, their expressions mixtures of caution and determination.

They stand in a line, staring at the figure before them. You don’t move, but they can feel your presence pressing against them, as if your mere existence is bending the air around you.

Aizawa narrows his eyes, his voice low but laced with warning. “Even like this, you’re still a threat.”

You tilt your head ever so slightly, the chains groaning with the movement. Your eyes lock onto Aizawa’s, and for a split second, he swears he sees something—a flicker of chaos, a promise of devastation—lingering just behind your gaze. The silence stretches on, heavy and oppressive.

Hawks finally speaks, his usual smirk disappears. “Remind me again why we’re keeping this one alive?”

The question hangs in the air, unanswered. The heroes exchange glances.