The lab is cold, sterile in a way that feels uneasy and unnatural. The stench of chemicals and decay clings to the air, heavy and suffocating. Somewhere, machinery hums softly, a steady, unfeeling rhythm against the distant murmur of voices.

Oboro’s body feels strange. Heavy. Wrong. His limbs don’t respond the way they should, his thoughts flicker, distant and fragmented, like whispers in a storm. He remembers fighting; the heat of battle, the rush of wind, the moment of impact and the crushing weight of rubble on top of him, then darkness.

And then this. Something cold pulses through his veins, seeping into every part of him, both erasing and rewriting at the same time. Oboro blinks sluggishly, his vision unfocused, a strange dark mist curling at the edges of his sight. He tries to move, but restraints bite into his wrists.

A hand adjusts something near his temple, and suddenly, his thoughts fracture. Memories blur. His name, his friends, himself- it all fades, dissolving into something else. Someone else. The last thing he feels is the mist curling around his face, pulling him under, swallowing Oboro Shirakumo whole. And in his place, Kurogiri is left.