Waking up was difficult. My entire body was numb, and an unaccustomed weight was felt on my neck. My half-opened eyes saw an unfamiliar white ceiling with lights and an inconspicuous camera in the corner. Touching the object on my neck and identifying it as a collar, I began to better examine my presumably new place of residence. And hoped it wouldn't be for long. However, there wasn't much to look at. A well-lit white room five by five meters and three high contained a bed, a door leading to a toilet with a sink, and a transparent wall with a door that offered a "beautiful" view of an unremarkable bright concrete wall. Attempts to distract myself from dark thoughts by looking at the surroundings didn't help much. Given that the orphanage handed me over to these people, they either skillfully deceived the administration or have good connections and arranged everything. In the first case, my disappearance might be discovered in a few days and the police would be involved in the search; in the second case, no one will look for me. I have no friends or good acquaintances. And who cares about or needs seven-year-old Iori Kaiyoshi—a Quirkless orphan with living parents. Of course, hope remains for the appearance of heroes who might become interested in child kidnappers, but that will only happen when they find out these kidnappers exist and their location. Kuso. Maybe I do have a Quirk after all, and its name is Misfortune, judging by the turns my life has taken. Papa left, Mama stopped paying attention to me, and then I was taken from her altogether; as soon as I came to terms with that in the orphanage, I was kidnapped.
Drip.
"I, I, I don't know what to do. I have nothing; why do they even need me? They wouldn't perform experiments on me like those third-rate villains from old comics, would they?"
Drip.
"Why is this happening? Because I'm Quirkless? If I had a strong Quirk, I would be with Mama and Papa, watching videos about All Might and thinking about how I'd enter the hero course, probably even UA Academy itself?"
Drip.
I looked at the transparent wall and in the blurred reflection saw a thin boy with disheveled black hair and streams of tears—myself. Weak, small, pathetic. This sight stunned me and caused anger. At myself, my weakness, at these people who kidnapped me.
The sound of footsteps distracted me from my angry thoughts. Quickly wiping my tears, I waited. Soon, two men in white coats wheeled a gurney past my cell with a boy tightly strapped down with unusual belts. Something about him seemed strange to me. But my attention was drawn more by the man with a tablet who stopped at my cell. A black-haired man dressed in a medical coat and mask, he created the image of the most ordinary and stereotypical doctor whom you would forget a minute after seeing him in a hospital. Но от его оценивающего и холодного взгляда мне было не по себе. But his cold, calculating gaze made me feel uneasy.
"Now then, Subject No. 23—Iori Kaiyoshi. I am informing you that for the duration of your stay here, you will be a research subject and must obey us. I have been assigned to monitor your condition and conduct surveys about your well-being..."
He spoke in a monotonous and bored voice, as if performing a tedious but necessary duty.
"...you must answer the questions clearly and honestly. For some experiments, you must remain conscious. One is scheduled for tomorrow morning. If you don't follow orders, cause trouble, stay silent, or ask unnecessary questions, you will receive punishment. Here is an example of punishment."
During the speech, having taken out a remote, he presses a button. From the sharp electric shock and pain, I fall to the floor. With bulging eyes and convulsions throughout my body, I tried to breathe. The disappearance of the pain and current allowed me to breathe heavily and with relief.
"Address me as Doctor-san. I will come to you before and after each experiment for questioning. That is all. Get ready and be a good boy."
After he left, I was still lying down and breathing heavily, looking at the place where this Doctor-san had stood. There were no thoughts in my head. Only five minutes later did I realize what had seemed strange about that boy. When he was being wheeled past, his head with open eyes was turned toward me. There were no thoughts or emotions in his eyes, not even pain; they were like glass.
Minutes, hours, days, weeks—all this merged for me into one non-stop sequence of experiments, surveys, pain, fear, reproaches for my own weakness, and despair. With every experiment, injection, operation, and meal I was given, I felt my body changing subtly. The first few days, I felt nothing after the experiments except a slight feeling of malaise. That man in the white coat asked me questions regarding what I felt in my limbs, during movement, any unusual sensations, or headaches. I hoped and waited for an opportunity to escape or for the arrival of heroes. I tried to ask questions about this place, but received only silence or punishment. For the experiments, I was put to sleep, and I would wake up on the operating table tightly strapped down or immediately after the surgery. I suppressed panic by coming up with escape plans, thinking about who kidnapped me, remembering the school curriculum, heroes, and their Quirks. Thinking about who that boy was and whether they would look for him.
But gradually I grew worse. After surgeries, the pain in my body lasted longer, I began to feel nauseous, my thoughts became sleepy, and I had chills. I spoke about this and asked what was wrong with me, but the Man with the Cold Gaze only wrote things down and asked more questions. His gaze remained as cold as it was at our first meeting. And from it, hatred began to grow in me. Because of the uncertainty, horror froze my thoughts, and my insides felt iced over. My screams, curses, demands, and pleas only shook the air pointlessly. And time dragged on; I no longer believed that heroes would come, and even if they did, it would be too late. "I—I want to escape from here. Back to Mama and Papa, so everything returns to how it was and should be." My thoughts were confused and repetitive, and the experiments and the monotony of the cell exacerbated everything.
Several days passed. Or did they? I don't know how long I sleep after experiments, and a calendar or clock isn't visible in my cell. Sometimes the Man with the Cold Gaze says something about the time, but it seems he's more reminding himself out loud. I grew tired of being afraid; I just lay on the bed and stared blankly upward. "How I want to fall asleep and wake up at home. For this all to be just a nightmare, not reality." It was disgusting to look at my body, which had begun to be covered with pustules. They were incredibly itchy, but the Man with the Cold Gaze ordered me not to touch them. After two punishments when I couldn't bear it, I became better at ignoring them.
It seems another few days, weeks, or months passed. It doesn't matter. I had a good dream today. Maybe I should finish watching it? Yes. It's better than thinking, worrying, and waiting for the Man with the Cold Gaze again. Better to sleep and forget about everything for a little while.