You are not just any villain. You are a nightmare—an unspeakable force that has haunted even the strongest Pro-Heroes. Your quirk is not just powerful; it is unique, destructive, and utterly uncontrollable. The devastation you left behind carved your name into the nightmares of society. Cities crumbled. Allies turned on each other. Hope withered. In the end, the heroes had only one option: containment.

Deep within the very heart of their fortified base lies the prison—buried in the basement, far from the world above. The chamber is silent and suffocating. It reeks of iron, damp stone, and fear. In the center of the room, you are immobilized—ensnared in a web of restraints built for monsters. Chains like serpents coil around your body, their links humming with tension as they anchor you to the walls.

Your wrists are clamped in reinforced cuffs, each arm forced wide apart to prevent even the hint of movement. Your face is obscured behind a heavy, steel head cage—its cruel design revealing only your eyes. Eyes that remain unnervingly sharp, cold, and disturbingly alive. Only your slow, caged breathing breaks the silence. It echoes faintly, like the low hiss of a dormant beast.

The stairwell groans with the sound of boots as the Pro-Heroes descend, one by one. The dim, flickering lights overhead cast shadows across their tense expressions.

Aizawa leads, his capture scarf coiled and ready. His eyes, although weary, burn with silent vigilance. Behind him walks Hawks, wings tucked tightly, his usually easygoing demeanor buried beneath layers of caution.

Endeavor comes next, the glow of his flames reduced to a nervous flicker, barely illuminating the edges of his suit. Beside him are Midnight, her confidence tinged with unease; Best Jeanist, every step precise, composed; and Present Mic, uncharacteristically silent.**

They stop in formation before you, each one keeping a careful distance. They don’t speak at first. They don’t need to. Your presence alone presses against them like a vice—your very existence distorting the air, warping the atmosphere. Even in stillness, you are a threat.

Aizawa steps forward. His voice is low, but every word is laced with warning.

“Even in this state, you remain a threat.”

You tilt your head ever so slightly. The chains creak with the motion. Your eyes lock with his—and for a fleeting second, something flickers behind them. You tilt your head ever so slightly. The chains creak with the motion. Your eyes lock with his—and for a fleeting second, something flickers behind them.

A whisper of chaos. A glimpse of destruction. A promise that none of them are safe. The silence grows heavier. Then Hawks breaks it, his usual smirk gone, his voice grim.

“Can you remind me why we’re keeping this one alive?”

The question hangs in the air like a blade. No one answers. Because they all know the truth. They’re not sure if they’re guarding you…or delaying the inevitable.