"Don't let me go."
"Don't worry, I won't ever let you go. I promise."
Ikari's scar is the first thing that people notice. And it drives them away, since it is the symbol of her father, one of the most feared villains of all time... before he died.
...
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*warning: violence
POV— Hebinoya Ikari
Choose
Don't let me go.
Save me, Ikari.
Shojiro is there again, repeating the same thing over and over.
Save me. Save me.
Well, I chuckle, in whatever astral dimension I am in, I'm the one that needs saving now.
And I don't know if I'm going to make it out alive.
Don't let me go.
What...
precaution—
safety—
we sincerely apologize for our lack of safety and action during...
what will this mean—
we will ensure in the future that nothing like this will ever happen again.
It is from a television. An old model, with a crackly speaker and a strange ring to it. A surge of nausea gathers in a hot, writhing knot on the frontside of my head. I stay still, hoping that it may ebb away, but it stays and continues to throb. My hair is sticky with blood, stuck to my face. The rest of my body is numb.
My throat is unbelievably dry. I have the urge to swallow, but a voice stops me.
"So, what do you think, Bakugou Katsuki?"
High and gravelly— a voice I've sworn I had heard before. The mention of Bakugou's name, no matter how much I hate him, makes my heart drop. As more feeling returns to my body, I shift my arms ever so slightly, but I am met with a tight burn on my wrists. When I try to move my shoulders, the same results appear.
Bound.
Along with the clink of a glass, a rustle of chains puncture the silence.
"Now tell me, why are they being criticized? I thought heroes were allowed to make mistakes." The voice turns mocking, pausing for a dramatic effect. "Modern-day heroes are so uptight."
I keep my eyes closed. If I open them now, someone will notice. From the constant shifting of clothes and a few creaks of the floorboard here and there, there are probably more than five people in this room. It's small, too. There isn't a draft coming in either, and by the second it's getting swelteringly hot... no windows.
The tracker. Someone must have been able to find it— I'd left it near where we were both taken. The tiny beacon is attached to the heel of my foot, where no one would think to look.
