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Every day, every morning, she stopped by with only one question.
“Pain or obedience?”
Izuku would get up from his lying position on the concrete floor, propping himself using his shaky arms, which had sustained various cuts, bruises, and breaks, blood dripping laggardly down his pallid skin. He would look at her, scowling even when every part of his body was begging him to stop.
“Pain.”
The answer was immediate...every time, his eyes gazing at the woman, determined.
Sweat rolled down his hairline, burning as it seeped into the lacerations that marred his face. He winced as another drop found a fresh cut near his cheek, but otherwise remained still.
“Really? You sure you don’t want it? All of this will be over.”
Like hell, he wanted that.
When they first kidnapped him, they threw him here, a lot more forcefully than he had hoped. He dealt with a concussion for a bit, but once he was better, the question began.
“Pain or obedience?”
He got a taste of it. A sample of what could happen if he'd just accepted obedience over pain.
All it required was touch. He tried to pull away. He even fought back. Two years at U.A. had taught him not to surrender so easily to villains like these. But he only had the embers left, and they had done something to his powers anyway. It wasn't a drug. He didn't feel the artificial drowsiness or lethargy that he knew all too well from those substances.
No. This was something else.
A quirk? Maybe.
Two men restrained him as the woman stepped forward. She gently took his hand, and the moment their skin touched, the effects hit instantly.
A crashing wave of relaxation washed over him like a familiar blanket that had been draped over him.
It felt warm—comforting, and his head felt light as if his skull had been filled with helium. But his body was heavy, numb and weighed down, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was nice...really, really nice.
“What do you think?”
Her voice echoed through the chambers of his hallowed mind. Her question lodged itself in his mind, sitting there—pressing, and pressing, and pressing.
He wanted to answer. He had this pull to do what that voice said. Details that had mattered seconds ago faded into the background until only the command remained. Everything else felt distant, unimportant, and difficult to grasp.
Plus, he felt nice. Really nice.
“It’s...nice.” He said, almost in a whisper as his mouth tried to conjure syllables.
“I know. You can have this...”
The woman did something, because suddenly, the relaxation stopped, and now his head pounded as well as other places in his body. He no longer felt that blissful numbness.
“....if you agree to obedience.” She finished.
Izuku, now clear-headed, looked at her in horror.
That was her quirk, some kind of mind control power. That probably explains why he can’t feel the embers. But what she just said...she wanted to control him. She gave him a taste so he could see how it felt, to lure him in.
He won't lie; it was nice. Blissful. The feeling of not caring and your thoughts shutting off was incredible. But like hell he would accept.
He won’t give up. Giving up meant that he would be used for whatever this sick woman wanted from him, and he knew it wasn’t for anything good.
“Like hell I’ll agree.” Izuku sneered, even as blood from the head injury dripped down his face.
“Oh, so you accept pain then?”
No. But what other choice did he have? He would take that over the other option. He’d handle what they throw at him; they won’t force him to choose the latter.
His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles stood out beneath his skin. “Like I have a choice.” He replied.
“Alright then. Take him.”
And that is exactly what they did. Forcefully, they took him to some room, and that is when his minutes, hours, and days of pain began.
He doesn’t know how long he had been here…weeks, maybe? He kept the hope that the heroes were looking for him—that they would find him and all of this would be over. All he had to do was keep fighting and not submit to her.
But as the days grew longer and the pain from the torture became more and more unbearable, the more his resistance faded.
When they were finished with him, they would throw him back into the bare concrete cell. There would always be something new—a fresh set of broken bones, deep gashes carved across his body, and blood soaking into clothes already stained by weeks of abuse. Layer upon layer of dried blood had accumulated in the fabric.
They would allow him to shower every once in a while. They would hand him a fresh set of clothes.
But none of it mattered.
By the next day, the clothes would be ruined again.
And every day, they would find new ways to torment him, not just physically but psychologically as well. The wounds they inflicted on him ran deeper than the ones visible on him. Yet, through it all, he fought. He did everything he could to not accept the second option; he couldn’t let himself give up.
But then another day came.
“Pain or obedience?”
“Pain.”
And then another.
“Pain or obedience?”
And the same response.
“Pain.”
Again, and again.
He endured it. The pain didn’t shock him—he knew that was bad; he’d gotten used to it. Every morning he woke up, and she walked in with the same question, and every day he told himself: “One more day”.
Months passed, and still nothing—nobody had come to save him. They got creative in breaking his mind, questioning his reality. That is when the hallucinations began.
He would see them when he was alone in the dark cell.
His mom, his friends, All Might. They would hug him and even tell him that he was safe, but then the morning came, and she would appear; that is when he knew he was not saved. They were not real, and he was still stuck in this hell.
The torture got too brutal.
One morning, he couldn’t even lift his lead-heavy head, not even a twitch. Every subtle movement sent a spike of sizzling pain through his body, his nerves screaming in agony.
She would be here soon to ask the same question.
“Sweetheart, you fought for so long, but it’s time to let go. It’s too much for you.”
Her mom.
She was there, comforting him. But—she wasn’t real.
“No—I—shut—up.”
But she was right, this was too much.
He was so tired.
His throat was raw from screaming for days; he could barely speak without his throat blaring with agony.
“My boy, you are going to die. Save yourself.”
All Might.
He was there, but he wasn’t real either.
“All—Might—why—where.”
No one was here. He didn’t come to save him. The heroes haven’t come. None of them.
It was hopeless.
Izuku knew...they weren’t coming.
He heard the door open. She was coming. Another question—another choice.
“Well, Midoriya. I wonder if today is the day. You know what I am going to ask. Pain or obedience?”
Izuku was going to say the usual.
Pain.
But he stopped, the word hovering at the edge of his tongue but now letting out.
Is that what he wanted?
He was so tired.
He didn’t know if he could continue to endure the cycle. The never-ending suffering.
The control. The obedience. It felt nice when she showed her. No more pain. No more hallucinations. No more suffering. It would all…end.
If he just gave in, it would all stop.
They weren’t coming for him—why continue fighting? It was pointless now.
“Midoriya? Is it going to be the same as always or—”
He’d had enough.
“N-No more p-please—o-obedience…I c-chose o-obedience.”
And she smiled, so brightly.
“That took you a minute. Good choice.”
She approached her, and he closed his eyes.
It may look like it, but…he hadn't changed his mind.
That was the cruelest part.
He still didn't want to be controlled. He didn’t want to be anyone’s puppet.
He just…couldn’t do it. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep saying no.
“I’ll take very good care of you.”
The touch sent warmth coursing through him.
The pain that had consumed months of his life simply...disappeared.
No more fear.
No more loneliness.
No more struggling to hold himself together.
The burden of choice slipped from his shoulders.
He sank into the feeling without resistance.
After all, he was so very tired.
And for the first time in months, he no longer had to fight.