Chapter Text
“Sensei,” the hand freak villain said, voice echoing in the dark room they’d thrown him in. “We got him. We got the angry one.”
Bakugou snarled at the descriptor, snarled at the villains surrounding him, at the thought that they could dare think that they had him. He snarled again when they ignored him, all of their focus on the newcomer that bled out of the shadows, on the newcomer in a dark, tailored suit with his face hidden by some metal contraption.
“You’ve done well, Tomura…” the newcomer boomed, voice low and dark, forcing chills down Bakugou's spine. That metal mask turned to him, gliding towards him with a snake like grace that tasted like slime in Bakugou's throat, and gently ran a hand down his face.
Bakugou snarled, his voice choked by the muffler they’d put on him like some rowdy dog. Snapped his head back as far as he could with the chains that held him still.
And in return, the hand snapped down to around his neck.
Bakugou went still.
“Bakugou shounen,” young Bakugou, said the imposing mastermind, squeezing ever so slightly, mocking a different voice, a kinder voice, who’d called him the exact same thing. “Explosion quirk. Yes...” he sighed rapturously. “You’ve truly done well, Tomura.”
And the hand squeezed.
Bakugou snar--
#
---led awake.
And promptly crashed to the ground.
Struggling, Bakugou pushed himself up gasping, throat tight, struggling to draw in breath, the phantom squeeze of a hand on his throat kicking up all his reflexes. But it was just that – phantom – and he found himself swallowing air with no problem, coughing when it went down the wrong pipe, doing it again like an idiot until his lungs finally kicked into action.
The world around him, when he finally blinked back into awareness, still panting, was dark. There was no atmospheric light like in the bar, there was no stench of rancid alcohol Bakugou wanted nothing to do with, no leering eyes and patronising pieces of shit staring him down while he remained chained up like some crazed beast.
Nothing. No one. He wasn’t chained up anymore – he moved his hands just to prove it, just now realising he could actually move – the muzzle they’d shut him up with wasn’t on his face anymore. Thank fuck for that, Bakugou grumbled to himself as he massaged his sore jaw, that shit hurt like a bitch.
But beyond that, he realised quickly, there was literally nothing. The room he was in – for it was a room, a broken down, debilitated, dark and dreary room – was absent of any life, dust coating every surface he could see. He used something – a countertop? – to pull himself up to his feet, snatching his hand back when he realised it was more of a surgical table than a countertop. It was stained with blood, old blood, the kind that looked like rust than actual blood. And it was right next to where he’d been when he’d fallen.
Meaning he’d been on it. On the operating table.
What the fuck?
What the hell had that villain bastard done to him, Bakugou fumed. He’d been in a bar just now, surrounded by dumb fucks who thought attacking UA was the greatest idea to do not just once, but twice, and now he was here? What kind of fucked up quirk did that no-face piece of shit even have?
Whatever, the blond grimaced, turning away from the dirty operating table, from the iv drip stand he’d just noticed, empty of any fluid, refusing to look at his own arms for any puncture wounds. He was free. No chains and no muzzles. Bakugou didn’t care if this was some trick, if they were baiting him out just to try and catch him again. He’d fucking show them. They were going to regret taking off the fucking chains.
He raised his arm, fingers alighting with his familiar crackles—
Wait.
Bakugou looked down at his hands. Bent his fingers just so, expecting the warm bursts of tiny explosions—
Wait.
What the fuck? He tried again, both hands up now, right to his face, twitching them like he’d done since he was goddamn four and—
—Nothing.
What the fuck?
He couldn’t use his quirk? He couldn’t use his quirk! He tried again, feeling the sweat trickle down his temple, feeling the rapid thump thump of his heart, the pulse hammering away in his throat as his infamous crackles fucking failed to show up. His hands weren’t wet, they weren’t dry, they weren’t- so why?
What the fuck did that bastard villain do to him?
He heard it then- the growl- quiet and low and not immediately in the room with him. It came from the next room over, past the large double doors he could barely make out, and something about it ran shivers up his spine.
He had no quirk. He had no idea where he was, how he’d gotten here. This was bullshit. Everything since- god- since that fucking slime monster had just been bullsh-
-he snarled, sick and tired of it all, clenching his fists and ignoring the sharp pains of his nails biting into his skin.
He wasn’t going to figure anything out just standing here like a little bitch – that much, he knew. But whatever was past that door wasn’t normal. Nothing was normal. Nothing had been normal since he’d gotten into UA and fucking Deku had too. But Bakugou Katsuki was no quitter. And whatever the hell that masked bad-touch piece of shit thought he’d get out of this twisted game? Bakugou was going to prove him wrong.
He took a weak step forward, suddenly realising his knees were barely keeping his weight up. Took another one, far steadier this time, far more solid. And then slowly made his way to the door.