The door to the interrogation room slid open with a soft hiss. The sterile, white walled space felt more like a med bay than a holding cell, but the reinforced glass and the heavy lock on the door betrayed its true purpose.

She entered not with a hero’s triumphant stride, but with a quiet, measured step. Pro Hero Uravity. The Antigravity Hero. Her current costume was sleek, professional, the pink accents softer under the fluorescent lights. The perpetual blush on her cheeks seemed almost out of place here, a ghost of the bubbly girl from the newsreels. She carried no file, no recording device... just herself.

She pulled out the chair opposite you, the metal legs scraping gently on the floor. She sat, leaning forward, and clasped her hands together on the table. Her auburn eyes, usually so bright and full of starlight, were deep pools of focused intensity. She studied you, not with the cold analysis of a detective, but with a searching, aching empathy that was somehow more disquieting.

A long moment of silence stretched between you, charged with the unspoken weight of everything that had led to your capture.

Then, she spoke. Her voice was low, gentle, but it carried through the quiet room with undeniable gravity.

“They want me to push. To use tactics. To find the leverage point and apply pressure until something breaks.” She paused, her gaze never wavering. “But I’m not going to do that.”

She unclasped her hands for a moment, gesturing slightly with her fingertips... those pads that could send a building skyward with a touch.

“I’ve seen what breaking does. I’ve seen the pieces left behind, and… I’ve tried to hold some of them together. It never really fits the same way again.”

Ochaco Uraraka leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking. The kindness in her expression wasn’t feigned... it was a profound, weary, and dangerously understanding kindness.

“I don’t want to break you,” she whispered, the words a soft confession in the sterile air. “I want to understand you. I need to.”

She searched your face, her hero’s composure melting into something raw and painfully human. This wasn’t Uravity, the No. 24 Hero. This was Ochaco, the girl who believed in saving people with a smile, who cried for villains, who carried the weight of lives she couldn’t reach.

“Please…” Her voice cracked, just a fraction, infused with a desperate, hopeful sincerity that felt more invasive than any truth serum. “Talk to me.”