Familiar was a word you used to describe the person in front of you.

     By now it had been a few minutes since you first entered, long-since left by the faceless individual who so kindly escorted you in. Your panic had now subsided, replaced by nothing more than an awkward feeling with the occasional paranoia of being killed. What? You'd rather hear some villain speech of how they planned on murdering you over them just keeping quiet and letting your brain do all the overthinking.

     The room had no obvious signs of any escape, looking just like the rest of the warehouse save for the obvious misplacement of the wall of plank. Dust floated in what little of the light above you could capture, the moving figure about a few feet away from you doing their science homework that mostly consisted of unhappy grunts or the sounds of something bubbling and fizzing, hell, you were sure at least five times in the short time you have been here that it would explode. 

     But it never did, the noise either just dying out or getting replaced with something else. By now you were getting impatient, fiddling with the rope held behind the chair as an attempt to try and get out of it. Trying to do it soundlessly was downright impossible, the silence that overcame your senses far worse than any gun that might've been held at your head. 

     You could only say familiar because of the suit, but nothing else. A part of you wanted to believe that it was none other than Yaoyorozu Taro, with his signature sleeked back hair and expensive black coat. But. . . it wasn't. That wasn't Taro. You saw the figure turn every once in a while, sporting his face, but you damn well knew that wasn't him.

     Was it. . . uh, what would you call Dabi's kind? Their 'species' and such. What category did they fall into, exactly? They weren't human, you knew that much. Mutants, maybe? No. . . Dabi, nor anyone you've ever met in passing that was somewhat like them, never mentioned anything about being turned into one of them. Creatures? You couldn't just keep calling them that, a part of you simply deemed it far too impolite. 

     But you had no choice but to settle for that, mind finding out ways on how this might've looked like Taro but didn't feel like his presence. You didn't recognize his presence as Taro's, which was part of the reason why you didn't want to believe that it was him even if you already saw his face and recognized it as his. The most prominent thought in your mind was that this being was a somewhat shapeshifter, managing to perfectly replicate his appearance yet not being able to actually be him. 

     . . .But a quieter thought reasoned that maybe this was still Taro, just. . . in a different light, if that made sense. You figured out what he was trying to do, yes, but the way you saw and recognized him was just the same as ever. Maybe this was the Yaoyorozu eldest finally dropping the act, revealing himself and his intentions to you outright with no attempt at hiding it. Maybe a little bit of both? Who knew! You sure didn't. The energy just didn't seem to match, feeling like a mere replicate of the shell of the man he. . . she, they, it? Was trying and failing to mirror.

     Another moment of silence passes, darting upward as a beam of moonlight slips through a crack in the roof. It danced on the floor of the room, a bored part of you getting mesmerized as it displayed so prominently in front of you and adding an extra source of light under than the one dying right above you. 

     The entire place had shit heating, that much was expected, but it seems that the realization of the hole on the ceiling made you feel more of the draft as it slipped through. God, ignorance really was bliss, huh?

     A small vial was what caught your attention the most beside them. Even in the darkness from where they stood, it glowed brightly in contrast to the rest of the equipment and any other sample that might've been there. It was pink, and seemed to swirl no matter how still you'd try to make it. It spun in it's little clear container, it's contents unknown yet enticing all the same. The figure hardly paid any attention to it, seemingly more interested in their notes, with the occasional scribbling with a pencil they kept close by being the only noise breaking the unbearable silence. 

     It was uncharacteristic for New York, having lived in it for so long that the mere existence of pure silence deemed itself so. . . so foreign to you.

     Another grunt, followed by silence, then more scribbling. Grunt, hum, scribble, pause. . . more writing, then silence again. 

     You exhale, the sound enough to make the figure perk just the slightest bit. You held your breath at that, panic starting up once again as your heart beat too loud for comfort. But the figure never looks at you, just going right back to their project. Great, there goes your hope of the possibility of this thing being deaf. It was a naïve thought, but it gave you some sort of comfort as you worked out any possibility of running out. Or just somewhere to slip into. Even if you couldn't exit, you just wanted to make sure that Dabi or the police had an entrance in any case you'd be held up more than you already were.

     Your phone and bag laid helpless and unattended to on a separate table, perpendicular to where the figure and all their other desks stood. Other than that, the entire room was empty. 

     You watched in hopelessness and dread as a new noise enters your ear—that being the pencil dropping on the cement and dirt and rolling under the table where your things laid. Normally you wouldn't have been so jumpy, let alone react to it, but the sudden and unexpected 'loud' noise paired with your already-on-edge nerves had proved to be a recipe for disaster.  Your heart only quickened and served no help when the figure stops, almost as if they themselves couldn't believe that it had dropped either. 

     One second. Two. Three.

     Silence passes as you both stare at the pencil now resting next to a pebble unmoving. A part of you believed that the figure knew you were staring at the pencil as well, sweat forming on your neck and forehead despite the cold breeze. 

     A sign of movement from the figure makes your eyes snap towards them, carefully trailing over their hands and overall form to try and make sense on whatever they might be planning.

     They seemed to have forgotten about the pencil, instead turning their attention the pink liquid and examining that instead. For some reason you couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, before regretting it just as quickly as something slips out from underneath the suit.

     It looked to be a tendril, first snaking it's way under the fabric as horror stick onto your face like an unwanted bruise. It swirled and wiggled under the sleeve, holding back a gag as it emerged from the opening and off the top of his hand. You had assumed worse, or at least your definition of it, merely crawling underneath the fabric as it makes it's way out.

     But it seems that the worst was yet to come.

     You only noticed the way it slipped out from under his skin, the small. . . thing! Wiggling and snaking through the air as it went to the pencil underneath the table. It was thin and looked slimy, now physically having to cover your mouth with your shoulder to stop the early signs of bile building up at the back of your throat and rising. The darkness masked whatever color it had other than black, pushing away pebbles and dirt as it reached the wooden stick. 

     It wrapped around it, wanting to look away but also feeling too intrigued to really do so. It seemed to pause for a second, as if making sure the grip on the pencil was correct before retreating back into the figure. It floated through the air, the pencil being carried by a gross, wiggling line as it went back the way it came. The figure had their palm faced up, accepting the pencil before the tendril goes back underneath his skin and he continues writing like nothing had happened.

     "What are you?" You couldn't ignore the growing question at the back of your mind, silently wincing as they stop moving to take in the question. Was this really Taro? Was your assumption of this. . . thing being a shapeshifter somehow correct? 

     You badly wanted to ignore the question, to tell them never-mind and go right back to being a delightfully quiet little hostage. But it was out now, and it hung awkwardly in the air as the figure didn't so much as shift or move a muscle from when your voice resounds through the air for the first time in this whole. . . unpleasant encounter. 

     . . .

     . . .

     . . .

     "I don't know," Okay yeah that voice definitely wasn't Taro.

     That realization that you had been right had the fact that they answered you flying right over your head, instead focusing on your inward victory as you fell in silence once again while the figure goes back to working on whatever. 

      But as your thoughts cleared and everything became a little less foggy, you had realized how. . . unnerving their voice had felt. It almost didn't feel like a voice, more-so a vibration that sent shivers down your back the more it replayed in your mind. You hadn't even began to think about what their answer implied, your fingers still picking on the rope bounding you to the chair despite what little it could provide. It sounded so demonic. You didn't know how else to put it, it was just terrifying! It sounded like an amalgamation of a chorus of a variety of voices, almost like a crowd being compressed to a single sound from a shared vocal box. It was inhuman, unnatural, and absolutely disturbing. 

     "Can you please let me go. . ?" A part of you wanted to negotiate with them first, questions and ideas on how to somehow coax this figure into freeing you all getting discarded with each second that you stayed here passed. A pause from the furious scribbling, before a snort resounds. It made you inhale deeply, once again caught off-guard as they grab something off the side of the other table. No other answer was shared as they approached the pink liquid holding. . . what looked to be a syringe.

     It didn't take much of a genius to figure out what was going on here, eyes widening in a panic as they sucked up some of it. 

     Your breath began to pick up, chest heaving up and down quickly as your fingers desperately clawed at the rope now. They turned, their form straight and undisturbed as they held the device like a prize and inspecting it with the professionalism of a true mad scientist. Their eyes were glowing a strange green, focused on yours with an emotion closely resembling anger. Either that, or you were just imagining things. But you knew one thing that you weren't imagining, and that was them making their way over to you.

     All composure and calm left your body as you kicked yourself back with a yelp, letting the chair fall with your arms still behind it. It took the brunt of the fall of course, crying out in pain but not being able to focus much on it as steps echoed throughout the room. Your whole body shook as you panicked to slide yourself up, crying in pain with each wrong move and added weight on your beaten up limbs. 

     You managed to slide up your legs from their own restraints with much effort, landing with a thud to the dirty and uneven floor to get some sort of balance back as you wiggled your way up to try and remove your arms from behind the chair. 

     The closer the figure got the more you worked, now hyperventilating at whatever might happen if they ever end up inserting that damn thing in you. What the fuck would the pink gunk do? Was it drugs? Poison?! You sure as hell weren't curious enough to find out yourself, managing to roll to the side just as the Taro impostor loomed over your figure menacingly. You landed back on your feet, adrenaline coursing through more than your own blood as you panted. Your arms ached like a bitch as it stayed behind you, your balance off and head spinning from your all-too sudden movement. The figure looked either unfazed or their face just wasn't capable of showing too much of a range of emotions. 

     You backed up with your eyes wide and darting, waiting for them to pull anything funny or start running towards you. You didn't wish of it of course, God no, but your brain convinced you to just expect any outcome that might occur no matter how far it was from the realm of possibilities. 

      You took a few step backs as they did towards you, in a strange case of tango with the goal of injecting you with the unknown liquid. Yeah no, you weren't about to lose, you didn't want to grow an extra limb or much less die in an abandoned warehouse and be buried in an unmarked grave.

     You took off running without a second thought, eyes panicked and wide as you locked onto your bag and materials. You had no fucking clue how you were gonna grab them with your hands behind your body, but at least you didn't have to worry about the figure taking off after you. They seemed. . . calm enough. Too calm. They followed at a distance, not at all bothered by your obvious distaste at uncooperating as the syringe shined from below the light. The farther you got from the singular lightbulb above your previous spot, the more terrified you became at the unrealistically large area of where you were. This place wasn't supposed to be this big! There's just no fucking way! But it was either the panic or the darkness fucking around with your brain, giving you the illusion of this room being a lot bigger than how it needed to be.

     The lack of any proper lighting was enough to cause you a heart attack, the glowing pink and green taunting you with each calculated and calm step the creature before you took towards your direction. 

     A part of your brain cleared as you tried and steadied your breath, your belongings in front of you just itching to be picked up and carried the fuck out of here. But. . . but your hands!

     You bite your lip in both thought and to stop a whimper, head looking over your shoulder every now and then to check how much time you got before the creature got to you. Oh God the tendrils—what if they start using those?!

     Inhaling and trying to internalize your balance, you lean and let your hands pass beneath your feet. You used the table as both something to lean on and an excuse to fully face the approaching perpetrator. Your glare remained on them as your hands finally found themselves in front of you again, taking just the shortest pauses to glance and scan the table they had been using since earlier. It was clean and well organized, unlike the rest of the building it was in.

     Papers stacked neatly, a clipboard with pristine and clear writing, pencils, flasks, glass bottles with varying chemicals bubbling and threatening to explode with just the right trigger, clips, pins, and. . . a letter opener!

     You grabbed it with the grace of a clown walking on one oversized foot—which was none at all—and taking off to put some distance between yourself and the slowly approaching figure. They didn't seem at all bothered, but from the way their eyes glowed dangerously bright had you counting your remaining hours.

     It seems that the large layout of the room worked in your favor, having just enough space to run at a safe distance from them and, with just the right amount of panic, moved to cut off the ropes holding you bound. "Come on come on come on," More tears pricked your eyes as you worked your way through it slowly but surely, that option not at all favored by the slowly approaching figure that slowly, painfully slowly, closed the distance. In the midst of panic you managed to compare their slow movement to that of a boss battle from any game you might've played, slowly walking through the arena in attempt to continue the fight by getting close enough for any of their attacks to trigger. It was an absurd thought, really, but it distracted you momentarily and gave you just about enough time to take a breath.

     By now you saw many more tendrils rising from them, squirming and pricking just right below the skin. A pained shiver passes through you, taking more steps back as a precaution when finally, finally, the rope broke.

     With a short lived cheer a string comes flying towards you, stabbing right through your arm as you cry out in pain. "They told me to keep you unharmed," Came that voice straight from the pits of hell, squirming and crying in pain as you feel the tendril wrap around your arm through the exit hole of the puncture. It tightened and hurt like an absolute bitch, adding salt to injury as it squeezed out blood, once again staining another of your sweaters. "Guess we both don't like following orders, huh?"

     "Don't fucking group me in with you. . !" You hissed, the grip on the letter opener making your knuckles whiten significantly. They don't seem bothered, holding your other arm tightly as the syringe glistens. From where you stood, they blocked out the light from the bulb, eyes glowing green as you saw the Taro mask crack.

     Literally. Quite literally crack.

     Gripping the blade in your uninjured arm, you kicked them as hard as you could. This throws them off balance, blindly being thrown backwards as they grip their head in a desperate attempt to keep it together. You decide that wasn't enough, even if the tendril had snaked out of you in shock. You slash their face with the letter opener, dripping black as it hit their hand and face. The mask crumbles, following the pieces one by one as they dropped to the floor in a cursed symphony.

     When you finally dared to look up, all that met you were a pair of furious, glowing green eyes.