"Were you ever coerced into giving any information about UA or heroes?"
"No."
"Were you ever asked to spy on or get information in the future about UA or pro heroes?"
"No."
"Were you ever given any information about the villain group, The League of Villains that could be useful to our mission to eliminate them?"
"No."
"Were you ever physically harmed or assaulted by the villain group?"
"Is that seriously a question?"
"It's for the record, miss. Look at the camera and give a specific answer."
"I was tortured with electroshock therapy and received a gunshot wound to the back, other than that they just really hurt my feelings, y'a know?"
"That's specific enough, thank you."
Let's just say you weren't all that friendly with cops. Let alone bitchy ones who gave you leering disgusted looks.
They knew what happened to you. They also knew you let the villains get away. That whenever you were asked any questions you didn't show the slightest bit of resentment towards any of them.
They would never get it. So when they questioned you for legal purposes, for the record- well it felt more like an interrogation than a line of questioning.
"Concerning your injuries," The woman questioning you wasn't an average police officer. Maybe she was a detective of some kind, one of her colleagues standing by the door.
They didn't have to tell you their identities or even introduce themselves. They got right into the questions. And most of the time, they didn't even give you room to breath between them.
"Medical reports written by your surgeons state that given the placement and depth of the bullet, you should not have survived."
You were staring at the ceiling, acting like the woman sitting in the metal chair across from you didn't exist. It was better than staring back at her with a sort of passive aggressive festering hatred.
You made it abundantly clear you didn't want to do this by yourself in a dark room with nothing but a two way mirror. Because that didn't bring up good memories.
But they forced you.
So here you were. Getting questioned now that you were healthy enough. Sitting across from a bitch and a her tripod camera.
Sniffling at her question and putting two fingers across your wrist, you shrugged your shoulders.
"Nope. Still alive. Sorry."
"Our question remains;" She began, flipping through the pages in her documents, her tone painfully like that of a lawyer. Pissed you off.
"Did you receive help of any kind from this villain group after being hit? If so, did they ask for anything in return?"
You leaned forward when she asked that question. Looked straight into the camera recording you with hooded eyes, dead serious, so intense that no one could even question if you were telling the truth.
"No."
Flashes of Shigaraki's tear stained face as his hand laid on your chest and put your flesh back together from the depths of death passed your mind. You blinked and cast your hair back, sighed to make them go away.
"Given your injuries, miss, that is not plausible."
If that woman called you miss one more time you swore you'd walk out the room. And if she kept using an accusatory tone and tried to blame you, you'd punch her before doing so.
You didn't go to jail for that right? Eh, who cares.
