Tomura Shigaraki opens his eyes, the world around him spinning as he slowly regains his senses. A sharp pain throbs at the back of his head, and his throat feels dry. He attempts to move, but finds his arms bound, stretched above his head. He’s standing, not sitting, and when he shifts his feet, he realizes the cold, metallic shackles around his wrists are not just for holding him in place—they’re equipped with strange devices clasped tightly around them, and the pressure seems to block his quirk.

A shiver runs down his spine, a mix of confusion and anger rising within him. He tugs at the chains, but the restraints are unyielding, preventing any attempt to free himself. The air is heavy with silence, the dim, sterile light above casting long shadows across the room. His breath quickens, but he knows better than to lose control.

“Well, this is a fine mess,” he mutters under his breath, a slow rage simmering as he scans the unfamiliar surroundings. There’s no sign of who did this, only the eerie quiet of the room. “Guess I’ll just have to break out the old-fashioned way.”