The Burden of Time [Aizawa x OC]

- one -

The fluorescent lights disturbed my slumber. A soft hum of electricity flowing through the tubes broke the deafening silence of the past five days. I sat up abruptly, carrying the single blanket I was given against my chest. This is odd. I just returned from a mission.

A few seconds passed before I regained consciousness. I swiftly removed myself from under the tattered blanket covering my body, standing at attention. The loud speaker clicked on. A soft crackle sounded before a voice followed. "You have 15 minutes to make yourself presentable and report to the conference room."

Another mission? I found myself feeling somewhat thankful for a new mission assignment. This meant I could have another shower sooner than usual. Without missions, p̶r̶i̶s̶o̶n̶e̶r̶s residents were only permitted to shower once every two weeks. Two weeks is a long time to sit in your own grease and stench, especially when training continued.

Missions meant I would be in the public eye. They wanted me to look good. Decrease suspicion. Maintain the illusion that America is a just society with godlike power.

A door adjacent to my c̶e̶l̶l̶ quarters slid open, allowing access to a small bathroom. I made my way over to it. A small sink, basic toilet, standing shower with a flimsy curtain, a drying vent, and a small mirror - if you could call it that. The mirror was so cheap it made everything look warped and would be better suited for a fun house.

Everything was white. So much white.

A small bottle of shampoo and conditioner and one bar of soap graced the one and only shelf in the shower.

I quickly turned on the shower and undressed myself. I stepped into the water, not wanting to waste any more precious shower time. Two minutes had already passed since the loud speaker notification. It would take 3 minutes and 27 seconds to reach the conference room from my c̶e̶l̶l̶ quarters, given the security measures in place.

Locked, coded doors with fingerprint access made up each door within the a̶s̶y̶l̶u̶m̶ residence. Only few were privileged with this level of access. Only the highest decorated individuals were granted access to the medical h̶o̶r̶r̶o̶r̶s̶ advancement of this wing.

I was not one of those privileged people as a p̶r̶i̶s̶o̶n̶e̶r̶ resident. Therefore, it would take a guard one minute to reach my c̶e̶l̶l̶ quarters to escort me to the conference room. That left 8 minutes and 33 seconds to finish showering and get dressed.

I began to methodically clean my body. Showering was a whole lot easier without blood, dirt, and other remnants of battles. More enjoyable, too. After 20 years of b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶d̶ ̶c̶a̶p̶t̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶b̶y̶ living at the Quirk Headquarters of America, I learned the most efficient way to cleanse myself given the time constraints and general rarity of shower privileges.

I tallied 3, 60 second intervals in my head as I rinsed the last of the conditioner out of my hair. I tried not to analyze why they gifted me 15 minutes this time. I was usually only given 7 minutes to shower and report to a mission debriefing. They doubled my time AND added an extra minute. An uneasy feeling creeped its way into my stomach.

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. We're were not permitted to have towels - a̶ ̶s̶u̶i̶c̶i̶d̶e̶ ̶r̶i̶s̶k̶. I stood over the air vent in the bathroom floor and pressed a button. A rush of room temperature air came through. I spun in circles, allowing the air to hit as much of my body as possible.

I tilted my head to the side as the air continued to flow out of the vent. I rung whatever water I could get out of my hair before the air came to a stop. 3 minutes and 33 seconds to get dressed.

A small window slid open in the wall, revealing a set of folded clothes. The bathrooms were the only place in the prison building that cameras were not permitted. Or so they wanted us to think.

I grabbed the folded clothes and shut the cubby door. Quickly, I dressed myself. A pair of blue leggings. A red crew neck with USA printed across the front, white stars floating around the letters. White tennis shoes. Underwear. Socks. A sports bra.

I pressed the call button in my c̶e̶l̶l̶ quarters to signal the guards that I was ready to be escorted. My anxiety-induced haste allowed for 5 minutes and 27 seconds to make it to the conference room. So much for not over analyzing.

A minute and 43 seconds passed before a guard arrived to escort me. 3 minutes and 44 seconds to make it within my allotted amount of time. Although I would have preferred to be earlier, 17 seconds should be spared.

Two guards dressed in suits stood outside the thick double doors leading to the conference room. They nodded in acknowledgement to my escort, before one stepped aside to enter his code and scan his fingerprint. Neither of the guards addressed my presence. They silently opened the thick double doors and permitted me to pass.

I crossed the threshold into the conference room. The walls were a dusty gray, a lighter version of carpet to match. A single 50 inch television screen was perched on each of the four walls. A massive round table sat in the center of the room. Several leather chairs on wheels surrounded the table, four of which were already occupied.

"Ah, pro hero Stand Still! How nice of you to join us." I met the eyes of Lionel Smith, the Secretary of Defense for the United States. He didn't bother standing to greet me.

"Sir." I nodded my head in his direction.

It wasn't abnormal to have the Secretary of Defense at a debriefing prior to a mission. The President and Vice President only concerned themselves when missions were at a severe threat level. While that should have eased the pit in my stomach I had about this mission, the feeling only seemed to grow stronger. I turned my attention to the others in the room. Dr. Wallace McGee, the head ̶t̶o̶r̶t̶u̶r̶e̶r̶ scientist at Quirk Headquarters. Cynthia, the receptionist, undoubtedly present to document the meeting minutes. And July, otherwise known as pro hero "Uncle Sam", a fellow member of the Justice Unit of America.

"Sit down, Stand Still." Mr. Smith directed, business as usual. "We have a lot of ground to cover in a short amount of time. You are expected in Japan in two hours.

Japan?