Bakudeku One shots---- Bits and Pieces

Why? - Slight horror

He walked down the dark hall with bloodshot eyes which reddened, turning puffier as tears collected and started to gloss over his vision. He felt tired, like he was sleep walking down this never ending hallway that was lit brightly, fluorescent lights nearly blinding. It was dead silent.

He heard something wet, similar to a squelching sound of boots hitting pavement on a rainy day but whenever he looked behind him there was nothing there. If anything the room was dead silent, stretching forward for miles. Maybe he was being paranoid, half asleep and hearing things.

The white walls and marble floors seemed to glow and expand the further he walked, hand dragging against the wall to keep himself balanced.

He yawned, reaching up to rub his eyes. Pausing abruptly in his path his eyes widened. Something was on his face, something that wasn't there before. Cool, yet warm, viscous and tangy. He scrunched his nose at the smell that was suddenly becoming intoxicating.

Pulling his hand away from his face he looked at his scarred fingers, he had no idea why they were that way. Or why...

Why was there blood on his hands? The sticky pungent substance dried in certain spots yet dripped at others. Burgundy and red splashes of colour, he glanced at the stark white walls. The bland surface now covered with the sticky sorry excuse for paint.

Looking behind him he realized he was leaving splotches of bloody messy footprints from where he dragged his feet from the other end of the room.

Where had he come from? He had no recollection, no idea what his name was or what he looked like. His fatigue began to fade, excitement in the pit of his stomach a strange unwelcome sensation as he realized that he liked how he smeared colour onto this bland canvas of a building.

Where was he? This place had no tags, no direction, nothing. There was light and rows on top of rows filled with doors and yet-

No windows.

The lights began to darken, his ears trained on the speaker phone situated high up on the wall which screeched unforgivingly loud. But his eyes focused on the camera, the blinking red light staring down at him as the camera seemed to move with him. If he took a step to the right it followed. How odd. He hadn't realized he was being watched.

The glint of light within the camera's lens was eerie, how he was unaware of the dark shadow who sat behind the computer screen that no doubt stalked him.

A staticy noise broke up the robotic tone the speaker spoke in. "Subject 13 has broken free. Izuku Midoriya return back to your cell willingly or you will be taken in with force. I repeat subject 13 has broken free, he is armed, I repeat he is armed."

"Izuku Midoriya." He said the name like it tasted odd in his mouth. His voice scratched over the vowels, mouth dry and throat parched. How long has it been since he has spoken? He had no idea he could even speak, the words slipping out of his mouth and rolling over his tongue freely like he had some sort of trigger reaction to the name. His name.

He is armed- He looked at himself, realizing that somewhere along this discovery he had apprehended a knife which was now lodged in the waistband of the loose white pants, splattered and stained as was his shirt with the arms ripped clean off. Scratch marks were pink and puffy, standing out against his tan skin though he could not feel it, whoever had done it had surely fought their hardest.

Scars like tiger prints dug into his forearm, these ones older seeing as they were healed and now felt ragged.

The sound of pattering footsteps echoed behind him. His eyes widened, looking over his shoulder. Reaching for the hilt of the blade he brought it out, eyes catching on the tag attached to his sweats. A tag, a doctor's ID card?