Idina has had a rough start to life. Her father was a murderous villain called Stain who abandoned her and her mother when she was two. By age 6 her mother had sold Idina to a gang leader (the Yakuza) who forced her to work in dreadful conditions be...
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I woke up and pulled the blanket off of my body to stand. My mouth was dry and I needed a glass of water. My room was dark except for a slither of light beneath the door. The hallway light surely.
"When do we get her?" A rough, scratchy voice caught my attention. It was a vaguely familiar voice... one I knew once perhaps?
"I'm sure she's due any moment." The respondent had a thick, scratchy voice of his own, except the owner sounded like a pack a day smoker.
I peered around my room. It looked... different. It... it wasn't my room. My bed was sat in the middle of a storage cupboard.
What the hell was happening?
As I tried to take a step forward I kicked my foot into a bucket, causing a sudden loud rattling noise.
Crap.
I held my breath.
"It would seem she's already here." That familiar scratchy voice cackled. "Come on out, Isana." He called.
Isana?
I was certain the strange voices were beckoning for me...
Dammit what the hell was going on here?
The last thing I remembered was... was sleeping in Bakugo's arms.
I sighed relieved.
I must be in a dream. This isn't real.
"It's rude to keep me waiting, Isana. Come on out now." That oddly familiar voice tried once more.
Now that I realised none of this was real, I had a new found confidence. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Except it wasn't a hallway. It was a brightly lit office with shelving complete with books of browns, blacks and creams stacked neatly within. There was a large oak desk with an array of papers scattered about and sitting on either side was two men, both of which were peering back at me.
My breath caught in my throat.
One of the men was a stranger to me. White hair, white, milky eyes and a blue tracksuit. He was younger than his smokers voice deceived at maybe 22 years of age, but he had a smug, cheekiness about him that you usually saw in the likes of Hawkes.
But the other man...
That familiar voice I couldn't quite place...
It was...
"Well aren't you going to say hello to your Daddy?" Stain's small pupils were fixed on me through a dirty, off white make-shift mask that he'd tied firmly around his head. His black hair, a similar colour to my own, was pulled back into a messy ponytail. His chin was sharp with that angled shape of his face and his cheek bones were deep and sunken.
No.
I took a step back, my eyes wide.
"This is a dream. You're not here. You're not here..." This had to be one of the worst nightmares I'd even had. Mainly because of how real it all felt. I could smell the dusty books that sat in the cabinets that lined the walls, I could feel the uneven planks of smoothed wood beneath my bare feet and I could feel the chill of air whisping in from the open window.
