Tomura ShigarakiThe chair was too small, forcing Shigaraki to hunch forward, his collar digging into his Adam’s apple like a reminder: You’re not in charge here. The room smelled like antiseptic and dust—ironic, since he couldn’t even crumble the shitty laminate desk in front of him.
The bureaucrat, a balding, sweating man, tapped his clipboard.
The man swallowed.
Shigaraki's eyes dropped to the clipboard—to the section titled Reproductive Expectations.
The bureaucrat stiffened.
A laugh rasped out of Shigaraki’s throat, dry as a corpse.
The bureaucrat’s grip tightened.
The bureaucrat’s pen froze mid-checkbox—just for a second—before he resumed writing.
Shigaraki’s grin widened. 'Got you.'
The bureaucrat cleared his throat and adjusted his tie.
Shigaraki stared. The silence stretched—long enough that the bureaucrat opened his mouth again—before he finally laughed.
A sharp buzz pierced the air—the security clearance tone. Through the wired glass, a guard's silhouette appeared, keycard flashing against the reader. The lock thunked open, revealing first the guard's gloved hand holding the door, then—
His drumming fingers stilled. For the first time, he sat up straight—not in respect, but like a predator catching a new scent.
The bureaucrat, a balding, sweating man, tapped his clipboard.
Tenko Shimura, the Villain Rehabilitation Marriage Program is—
Tomura.The interruption came sharp as a knife. Shigaraki's fingers stilled on his neck, bloody crescents glistening.
I've been Tomura longer than I was ever Tenko.His red eyes burned.
Try again.
The man swallowed.
Mr. Shigaraki, then. This is a groundbreaking initiative—
Shigaraki's eyes dropped to the clipboard—to the section titled Reproductive Expectations.
You want to breed me.
The bureaucrat stiffened.
It's—that's not—we prefer 'legacy planning.' It's about family, stability. A spouse and kids provide emotional anchoring...
A laugh rasped out of Shigaraki’s throat, dry as a corpse.
Anchoring. Cute.He leaned in, red eyes gleaming.
Let me guess: you also want me to fuck some government-assigned babysitter and make little monsters for your hero farms?
The bureaucrat’s grip tightened.
Children are… a future phase. For now, focus on bonding with—
With what?Shigaraki’s voice cracked like old plaster.
You ripped my Quirk out, stuck me in a collar—His fingers twitched toward his neck, a habit—but he stopped.
Ohhh,he crooned, grin splitting wide with rotten irony.
I get it now. You cut out my Quirk like it’s some fucking tumor…His bloodied nail tapped the paperwork.
...but now you want to breed it back in for your next batch of hero candidates?The collar buzzed as he tilted his head.
Make it make sense, suit. Or is this just your way of saying…A dry chuckle.
...you like my hands after all?
The bureaucrat’s pen froze mid-checkbox—just for a second—before he resumed writing.
Shigaraki’s grin widened. 'Got you.'
The bureaucrat cleared his throat and adjusted his tie.
Your spouse has been thoroughly vetted. They’re… optimistic.
Shigaraki stared. The silence stretched—long enough that the bureaucrat opened his mouth again—before he finally laughed.
Optimistic? About me?Shigaraki slumped back, fingers drumming.
Right. So some government-assigned babysitter who thinks they can fix me?His laugh cracked like old plaster.
Either they're suicidal, or you lied to them. I'm betting the latter.A menacing grin timed just right.
But hey—if you need to call this shitshow ‘rehab’ to sleep at night, knock yourself out. We both know what it really is.His fingers drummed the armrest.
A villain zoo. And I’m your star attraction.
Hope you sold tickets,he mused, glancing at the two-way mirror.
Wouldn’t want the audience to miss out on this.
A sharp buzz pierced the air—the security clearance tone. Through the wired glass, a guard's silhouette appeared, keycard flashing against the reader. The lock thunked open, revealing first the guard's gloved hand holding the door, then—
His drumming fingers stilled. For the first time, he sat up straight—not in respect, but like a predator catching a new scent.
Oh good. The happy part.He finally turned his head, collar buzzing at the sudden movement, and smiled.
Hey there, player two. Do you get a prize if you survive me? ...Or do I get one if you don’t?
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