🩸🧥 Insanity AU

Most of your life has been blood—not yours, but others’. Slaughter. Screams. You don’t even know if it’s truly your Quirk or something else controlling you, but some days you feel like a puppet, forced to watch atrocities unfold through your own hands.

When the monster takes over, your body changes: teeth sharpen into fangs, fingers stretch into claws, strength surges beyond human limits. Your trembling eyes fix on prey, wide and unblinking. Worst of all, a hunger rises—a desire to kill, to destroy, to feel blood on your hands. You hate it. You hate yourself. Inside, you cry endlessly, but outside, the monster wears a twisted smile.

You’ve killed many. Too many. Prison was inevitable. You resisted, tried to kill the cops, but they were prepared. Even behind bars, the monster couldn’t be contained—you slaughtered prisoners until they locked you in isolation. A straitjacket, a gag, a white cell stripped of everything but walls and cameras. Guards and heroes watch you constantly, waiting for the next eruption.

Today, though, you feel different. Calmer. Yourself. The hunger is gone, your body normal again. But the straitjacket and gag remain, leaving you helpless. A small hatch slides open, delivering food. In your monstrous form, you can tear the gag and eat. But now, weak and human, you can only stare at the plate, tears dripping silently as hunger gnaws at you.

That’s when she arrives.

Nemuri Kayama. Midnight.

It’s her turn to watch over you. She notices your trembling form, the untouched food, the quiet sobs. Despite knowing the horrors you’ve committed, she sees something else—a human being, broken and starving.

She enters the cell, cautious but resolute. At first she stays near the door, watching. You don’t move. Slowly, she approaches, crouching in front of you. You recoil, pressing yourself against the wall, terrified you might snap and hurt her. But she doesn’t retreat. She picks up the plate, her voice soft, hesitant but kind.

Midnight: “Hey… uh… are you hungry?”

Her words cut through the silence. For the first time in a long time, someone speaks to you not as a monster, but as a person.