̶U̶n̶ Scathed

-3-

(torture tw untill the pov switch) 

But I couldn't. If I betrayed the Leauge, then I would live with the guilt for the rest of my life.

The man stalked out of the room, and recovery girl hobbled in.

She clicked her tongue as she inspected my wounds. Watching through half-lidded eyes, I tried to keep the fear from showing on my face.

Placing her hands in my chest, I wince as her touch sets off a new wave of pain, sending me closer the unconsciousness. This time around, there aren't that many cuts, and she finishes in just a few seconds. Making eye contact with recovery girl, I make a last feeble attempt at saving myself.

"p-please don't l-let them do it again," I plead, genuinely terrified of what will happen next time.

She freezes, glancing at the one-way mirror.

"I don't agree with this, but I can't help you. this is the most I can do." she then closed her eyes in concentration. placing one hand on my forehead. It begins to glow, and a soft hum comes from it. Warm tendrils of energy flow from the hand into my head, guiding me into the depths of unconsciousness.

When I come to, I am in a white cell with yet another one-way mirror. There is no furniture, but Decay marks cover the wall from when I was still strong enough to use my quirk.

I walk over to where a metal tray of food and a pitcher of water sit, begging me to consume them. inspecting the pitcher, I angle my head so that the light hits the water a certain way.

As I suspected, there is an oil-like sheen on the surface, indicating that it had been drugged. Sighing, I walk to the other wall and slump to the ground, exhausted by the simple act of crossing the cell.

Ok. so for this story I am planning to do alternating perspectives between Tomura and Dabi. whenever I switch to Tomura, it will be a few days earlier before he is rescued. Have fun!

Dabi's POV

No matter how much I toss and turn, sleep will not come. I am worried about Toga and twice, who will be alone against Overhaul's minions.

I fear for Kurogiri, who is stretched far too thin trying to coordinate the actions of the entire league.

Most importantly, I am scared for Shigaraki. Whatever happens to him will affect the entire league. If he is seriously affected by his time as a hostage than the other followers will have lower morale as well. At the same time, putting him on the streets is not an option, as he will be vulnerable to any aspiring hero or gang that crosses his path, and again, the morale problem.

I grapple with the problem, eventually concluding that I will do everything in my power to help Shigaraki and the others.

Once I come to make that decision, it's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders and I easily fall into slumber.

Shigaraki's POV

At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because the floodlight in the center of the room has been switched off like they normally do at nighttime. I stretch, gingerly extending my arms above my head, feeling my aching bones grind against each other. As soon as I stand, the metal door on the other side of the room opens and two men in military uniforms walk in.

Without saying a word. they roughly pull me to my feet and twist my arms behind my back, securely tying them together with a quirk-proof cloth. The fabric digs into the rope burn from yesterday, irritating the already raw skin.

They half guide, half drag me down the hallway. As we near the interrogation room, I realize that they're not taking me to recovery girl for my second treatment.

I dig my heels into the ground, significantly slowing the two men down.

"Watch it." He says, yanking me forward so fast I don't have time to stand back up normally and trip over my own feet.

By now, the older man of the two is furious. The younger one, however, looks concerned. He leans over to help me up, putting himself between me and the other man so he can't see what he's doing. as he bends over, he whispers into my ear.

"I'm sorry. I know you're a villain, but nobody should get treated like that-" he says, nervously watching the older man fix his boot buckles. "I'm not supposed to say this, but they aren't interrogating you for information, they're doing it to use you as a hostage. If you tell them what they ask for, they won't stop. good luck!"

Just as the older man straightens, the younger one lifts me to my feet and nudges me forward.

Before long, we arrive at the room. As they hand me over to the interrogator, the younger one gives me a sympathetic look, then goes to stand at the door.

"Well, so nice to see you on such short notice." the interrogator says, placing a firm hand on my back and guiding me into a chair.

In front of me, a set of various scalpels and pliers rest on a folding table.

The interrogator places one hand on the back of my neck, steadying my shaking body so he could fasten my arms and legs to the chair.

He calmly sits in a chair across from me, resting his head on his steepled hands. His face is covered by the same black cloth that he always has, preventing me from reading his expressions.

"Are you going to tell us what we want to hear?" he asks, speaking in a tone not unlike a teacher explaining a difficult problem to a student.

All I can see is the pliers on the table. Blood rushes through my head, filling me with dread as I stare at the instruments.

I steel myself for what will happen for the next two hours, maybe four if I'm unlucky.

"Y-you know I won't tell you a-and your disgusting club of so-called heroes where the l-league is, so why a-are you doing this?" I manage to stutter, unable to stop shaking.

The man thinks for a moment and then stands, picking up a scalpel.

"You don't need to worry about that. Your only job is to tell me where the villains are." He says, observing the surgical device. Quicker than I can follow with my drug-slowed eyes, he plunges the scalpel into my left arm, yanking it towards him. I can hear my flesh ripping apart. But before I even open my mouth to scream, he uses a lighter to cauterize the wound.

the pain noticeably decreases, but it is still enough to warrant a muffled yelp. I claw rapidly at the chair, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as I bite through my tongue.

Just as I finally begin to control my breathing, he lifts a pair of pliers, sitting back at the table. It moves closer to my hand, resting on my leftmost finger. We both know what's about to happen. I stare with tear-filled eyes at where I think his eyes are, begging silently for him to stop. He shakes his head and closes the pliers.

I watch helplessly as my knuckle bends backward, way, way, way too far backward. I feel my bones shatter, watching random pieces of them burst through my skin. The pain is indescribable. I simply take it in shock, unable to comprehend the amount of agony spreading through my arm.

"Now, will you tell us?" He says, placing the pliers on my next finger.

I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can, tensing every muscle in my body as I utter the phrase that could spell my demise.

"Never."

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