[Temporary Hiatus]Echoes Of Rebellion: Reign Of Puppetmaster

Vibrate the lab

The air reeked of metal and decay. Dim, flickering lights illuminated the long, cold hallway as two guards dragged Izuku and Kaito through the endless stretch of cells. Their wrists and ankles were bound with heavy chains, the metal biting into raw, bleeding skin. Izuku stumbled, his legs too weak to carry him any further, but the guards yanked him forward without care, forcing him to stay upright.

The cells on either side were filled with children—dozens of them crammed into spaces too small to sit or lie down comfortably. Their faces were pale, gaunt, their eyes hollow from days, maybe weeks, of fear and starvation. Whispers spread through the children like wildfire as Izuku and Kaito were dragged past.

“New ones…”
“Look at their hands…”
“Another Q.I. subject…”

Izuku barely registered the words. His head hung low, dark green bangs covering his eyes as his mind fought to process the fresh wave of pain and humiliation. On the back of his left hand, the ink stood stark against his pale skin:

"Q.I. Subject - Grade ???"

Quirk Infusion. That was what they called him now. Not Izuku Midoriya. Not a person. Just another experiment. The grade—a mark of potential—was left blank, a testament to the uncertainty of whether his body could even survive the horrors that awaited him.

Beside him, Kaito’s trembling hand bore a different label:

"H.P. - Hero Project"

A hero in training, they called it. But Kaito knew better. He had seen too much, endured too many trials, to believe the lie. They weren’t training heroes; they were breaking them. Shaping them into tools, weapons to be used and discarded.

The guards stopped in front of a cell near the end of the hall. With a metallic groan, the door swung open, revealing a cramped space already packed with at least fifty children. They all shrank back, huddling closer to one another as the guards shoved Izuku and Kaito inside.

Izuku fell to his knees on the cold stone floor, chains clattering loudly in the oppressive silence. Kaito dropped beside him, his body slumping against the wall, his breaths shallow and ragged. The guards locked the cell behind them and walked away, their laughter echoing down the hall.

For a moment, the cell was silent, save for the faint, uneven breaths of its newest occupants. Then, a small voice broke the stillness.

“You’re one of us now,” a boy murmured, his face hidden in shadow. “They’ll come for you soon. When they do… you’ll wish you never survived.”

Izuku raised his head slightly, his dull green eyes scanning the room. The children’s faces stared back, each etched with fear, anger, and despair. He clenched his fists, the ink on his hand smearing slightly as his nails dug into his palm.

The weight of their gazes pressed down on him, but he didn’t break. Not yet. He couldn’t.

“We’ll survive,” Izuku whispered, more to himself than anyone else. His voice was hoarse, but there was a spark of something in his words—a fragile determination that refused to die.

Beside him, Kaito let out a bitter laugh, though it held no humor. “Survive for what, Midoriya?” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “So they can break us all over again?”

Izuku didn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready to give up, not yet.

And in the quiet, dark cell, surrounded by broken children, that tiny spark burned just a little brighter.

---

The faint sound of clanking echoed through the damp hallway as the guards marched down the corridor, rousing the children from their restless sleep. The air was cold, and the stale stench of the overcrowded cell clung to everything. Morning came with no sunlight, only the dull glow of flickering ceiling lights and the sound of keys jingling.