Bullet Through My Heart

Chapter 1- Prolouge

TW: This story contains sensitive topics like abuse and suicidal thoughts. Please take care.

Izuku and Inko were playing in the park on Saturday, as they always did.

Inko pushed the bubbly child on the swing, her cheeks curved up in a gentle smile. Her son beaming.

Until everything went wrong.

Izuku turned at the abrupt stop his mother put on the swing, only to see an unconscious Inko and two men, looming over Izuku as the small boy looked up in horror.

A man in a mask stood tall over the boy, muffling hi screams with a piece of cloth.

Izuku's eyes had tears spilling over onto his cheeks as he was dragged away. The last thing he saw was a young Katsuki and his mother running after him from down the road, but it was too late. They all knew it was too late.

As the heroes and police inspected the scene, Inko sobbed violently on the bench, head in her hands.

"I let him go! And I didn't do anything, this is all my fault Mitsuki."

"No it's not, we'll find him." She said, hugging her friend in an attempt to reassure her.

"It's all my fault." Her voice slowed to a whisper.

"Where am I?" The boy trembled as he was tied to a chair. The room was pristine, everything was white except for the metal accents and light blue cover on the medical table. The smell of disinfectant filling his nose.

"Where you'll live now. It'd be in your best interest to shut your mouth." A new man snarled at the young boy with distain.

"I want my mom." The boy let out, his voice almost a whisper.

"Shut up brat."

Izuku had learned not to talk unless he was supposed to quickly. Whenever he did the doctor injected him with a substance that felt like needles all over him, cause his body to spasm violently in pain.

So he didn't talk.

~Four Years time skip brought to you by my lazy ass~

"It's time again." A new man said to the ten year old boy.

Izuku promptly nodded, but it was subtle.

The boys once bright eyes were now dull. He had lost all hope in rescue after finding out he'd been officially pronounced dead 2 years ago.

He was unhealthily skinny, and his hands hung limply at his sides. He wore a simple long sleeved shirt and loose shorts, the drawstring pulled as tight around his waste as possible. His once green hair had darkened to almost black, a few brighter green strand here and there. He wore an expression a kid shouldn't be wearing. And his eyes had dark circles under them from lack of sleep. The long sleeved shirt covered his scarred arms, bandages covering the exposed leg loosely.

He was moved to the white room, a seemingly pristine room. But no amount of disinfectant could erase the grim energy of the permanent smell of blood, covered by excessive cleaner over and over again.

Izuku loathed this room. Izuku loathed his life. And the boy honestly didn't have even a drop left of hope for rescue. This was his life now, and he would never escape.

His silent screams echoed across the walls as he was ripped apart on an almost molecular level, only to be put back together again.

Izuku wished he was dead.