The room was cold. Too cold. The kind of cold that seeped into the bones, making even the strongest heart skip an anxious beat. Bright fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their glare reflecting off sterile white walls and the reinforced glass separating the observation deck from the chamber. In the middle of it all—chained, muzzled, restrained—sat Experiment 001.
A figure. A shadow of what once was human, or at least human enough to pass for it. Thick quirk-suppressing shackles dug into their wrists and ankles, the heavy steel cuffs connected to the floor with chains taut enough to rattle if they so much as shifted. The muzzle strapped tightly around their jaw made every breath sharp and mechanical, muffling any attempt at words. Their gaze, however—unchained and untamed—burned with an intensity that silenced even the boldest thoughts.
The students of Class 1-A shifted uncomfortably behind the glass. This was supposed to be an educational tour, another lesson about the blurred line between science and society, but no one expected this.
A scientist in a long, crisp lab coat adjusted his glasses, his voice cool and clinical as he gestured toward the restrained figure. “This,” he began, “is Experiment 001. The origin. Where it all started. The first success in our… ongoing attempts. And also our most dangerous creation to date.”
Bakugo snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets, unimpressed by the introduction. “They don’t look dangerous.” His voice was sharp, dismissive. He was used to big talk—used to warnings that ended up being overblown. This felt no different.
Izuku pressed his notebook against his chest, eyes wide and uncertain as he studied the figure through the glass. Even from this distance, he could feel something radiating off them. Not just power—something heavier, deeper, like standing at the edge of a storm before it broke. He hesitated before asking, almost too quietly: “H-how old are they?”
No answer came from the figure, only the steady rise and fall of their chest, the muffled scrape of chains shifting slightly as they turned their head, their eyes flicking across the group.
Kirishima leaned forward, resting his arm against the railing, squinting. “They look manly,” he said with a grin, trying to lighten the tension but only earning uneasy glances from the others.
Mina tilted her head, her curiosity bubbling past her nerves. “They’re kinda cute!”
“Ew,” Bakugo shot back immediately, scowling, though his eyes didn’t leave the figure in the room.
Aizawa’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes were sharp, measuring. His voice cut cleanly through the chatter: “Why are they considered your most dangerous?”
The scientist’s jaw tightened as he adjusted the papers in his hand. “Because,” he said simply, “they have lashed out before. Violently. Several of my colleagues were… gravely injured. A few were nearly killed.” His voice lowered, careful, as if he were choosing words to keep the students calm.
Bakugo scoffed again, louder this time. “That’s not that bad.”
But the experiment’s gaze shifted to him, and for a single heartbeat, the weight of it pressed down on the air like an invisible hand. Bakugo froze, his smirk faltering, though he quickly covered it with a scowl.
Izuku bit his lip, unable to stop himself. The question slipped out before he could think better of it: “By any chance… could they defeat All Might? Or even… AFO?”
Gasps erupted from the class. Even mentioning such a possibility felt wrong, like breaking some unspoken rule.
All Might himself, standing off to the side in his weakened form, straightened at once. His normally kind expression hardened, his voice stern as thunder. “Don’t speak such nonsense, young Midoriya—”
But the scientist interrupted, his tone flat, devoid of hesitation. “Yes.”
The room fell silent.
He glanced down at the papers in his hands, though his words were directed at no one in particular, heavy with certainty. “01 could end the war between heroes and villains in less than a millisecond. They are far more powerful than both All Might and All For One"