Chapter Text
Hitoshi Shinsou could barely pinpoint the sources of pain on his body. All he knew was that everything hurt and that he needed to continue running. It didn’t matter that his lungs burned or that his bare feet were quickly becoming numb in the previous day’s snowfall; he needed to keep running.
The streets of Musutafu were as empty as one would expect for the middle of the night on a cold Friday in February. The few people that did pass the panicked, sprinting purple-haired boy didn’t spare him a second glance. Hitoshi knew that the heavy-duty, leather-strapped muzzle on his face could only spell out one thing: villain’s quirk .
It’s what his parents and teachers had told him his whole life. He had always wanted to be a hero — still wanted to be a hero, but he had been told enough times that he knew: no one could ever trust a hero with a quirk like his. No one could ever feel safe around a hero like him.
Tears stung his eyes, and he didn’t see the foot extend in front of his path until it was too late. He tripped and careened to the ground, having no time to brace himself. He landed on the side of his face, letting out a muffled cry as the muzzle dug even further into his broken skin.
“What’s got you running so fast, kid?” an unfriendly voice sneered from above him.
He stared blearily up at the man who tripped him and let out a small, pained noise. He then looked behind himself, half-expecting his father to be on his heels. But the road was dark and deserted, and now Hitoshi was being confronted by a large stranger who emerged to trip him from an alleyway.
“What, cat got your tongue?” A different voice. He was being confronted by two large strangers.
As he tried to get up to continue running, one of the stranger’s big hands grabbed his elbow, yanking him up to his feet. He attempted to find his footing, but this moment of forced stillness made him realize how physically weak he truly was.
Pangs of hunger radiated nonstop from his stomach. It had been two days — three days? — since his parents had put the muzzle on him. They usually unlocked it so he could at least eat, but they had been especially cruel this time. Hitoshi just barely remembered what he had done to deserve it, but he didn’t understand why he deserved to have it this tight. His jaw ached like never before.
“Damn, this kid’s in bad shape!” one of the alleyway stranger’s cackled. Their voices sounded so far away while Hitoshi recalled what brought him to this moment.
His eye throbbed with the fresh punch he had received that spurred him to run. “How many times do I have to tell you to turn that fucking radio down?!” his father’s voice echoed angrily in his head. He could at least appreciate that his father interrupted him just as the Put Your Hands Up radio show ended, and that he had punched him instead of destroying the radio. This was already his third radio, and it was so hard to scrounge up his own money to get a new one.
He really had not wanted to get hit too hard. He knew his father simply needed time to calm down from his drunken rage.
So he ran. He didn’t even have time to think about putting on shoes or socks.
“He’s kinda pretty, huh?” The strange voice brought him back to his current predicament.
As he got manhandled into the dark and smelly alleyway, he sort of wished he had just stayed home and endured a beating. It suddenly seemed like a much better alternative to have a familiar drunk man in his face than these two strange drunk men.
“Yeah,” the other guy agreed, and then tugged harshly at the muzzle. “Too bad for this thing. Bet he would’ve had a pretty mouth. Would’ve looked good on his knees.”
“At least he’s got another hole we can use!”
Hitoshi didn’t understand what these men were talking about, but he immediately didn’t like the tones of voice they were using. The dark look in their eyes was sinister in a similar yet much different way than his father’s.
He started to fight against them, pushing at them and trying to find a way out of their grasp, but that only made them laugh. Their grips tightened on him and they pushed back at him.
He came to a terrifying realization that he was truly trapped between two strange men and a musty alley wall. At night. In the pitch dark.
“Such vigor in such a small kid! How old do you think he is, huh?”
“Hmm. I’d bet nine or ten.”
I’m fucking twelve! And let me go! Hitoshi wanted to scream, but all that came out was a weak whine.
The men laughed and towered over him. He stared up at them, wanting so bad to fight back, but mostly feeling like he was going to pass out at any second.
“Enough teasing. Let’s take him right here!”
Take me where?! Hitoshi thought frantically. There must’ve been a different meaning of the word as he felt the men turn him around and pin him against the wall. Hands started pulling at his clothes, untying his sweatpants and shoving them down to his thighs.
He breathed in panicked, shaky breaths through his nose and felt hot tears pour down his cheeks. He was becoming dizzier, hating the way he was being touched, still not fully sure what was happening. He tried activating his quirk by letting out little sounds with upward inflections. The men responded, laughing and taunting him. Hitoshi’s hopes plummeted as he realized that his quirk wasn’t going to work with the muzzle inhibiting him.
Too weak to fight and having no way of screaming for help, he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that whatever they were about to do, they’d get it over with quickly.