The boy sat curled in the farthest corner of his cell, cowering as the men outside the bars jeered at him and the other children trapped beside him.
He flinched violently whenever they slammed their metal pipes against the rusted bars, the clanging reverberating through his bones. Shower time was the worst. They would hose the children down with ice cold water, their eyes roaming across their trembling, disrobed bodies with sickening glee.
This was hell.
A living, breathing nightmare that showed no signs of ending. And the small boy didn't know if he'd ever escape.
For the past few days, he had quietly cried himself to sleep, the ache of hunger and thirst gnawing at what little of his strength remained after days of torture. His lips were cracked, his stomach hollow, and his limbs were too weak to even shiver due to being exposed to the freezing air for too long.
He'd been brought here by rough-handed men who said he'd fetch a decent price on the black market. That was all he was to them, a product. But even then, they hadn't given him food or water since they'd first brought him in.
The last place he'd been held had been dark and cold as well, but at least his captors there had had the decency to toss him a few scraps every now and then.
He dreamed often of the life he'd had before it all fell apart. Warm meals, soft blankets, and voices full of love. Whenever he woke up from those dreams, it always hurt worse than when he'd fallen asleep.
He missed his mother's cooking. She always made sure he had a snack whenever he was hungry, even when she knew it would ruin his appetite for dinner.
He remembered how she'd summon cookbooks with her quirk [Archive] and juggle multiple recipes all at once. She'd make wacky combinations from different cook books, laughing at her failures and cheering at her wins and even when the food turned out weird and barely edible, he and Dad always smiled and ate it anyway.
Across from him, a girl slightly older than him was banging on her bars again, screaming for someone, anyone, to let her out. Bright flashes of light flickered from her palms every few seconds, most likely something to do with her quirk, but the constant disturbance only made the men that were holding the hostage angrier.
She wasn't as smart as he was, the little boy thought to himself. She hadn't learned yet that staying quiet meant that you got fewer beatings.
Afterall, the men always went after the noisy ones first.
He hugged himself tighter, trying to trap what little warmth he had left before it leaked into the frigid air.
He'd seen other kids stop moving after a particularly cold night and feared what would happen to him if he stopped moving as well. The men would poke at them, shake them, drag them out and beat on them, but they never woke up.
If Dad were here, he'd turn into a big fluffy dog and curl around him like a living blanket…But it didn't make sense to keep imagining the impossible. He knew that his Dad wasn't coming. The boy didn't know what happened on that day after the bad men had hit his father with the rusty piece of pipe, but he was sure that if his dad had survived, he'd have come for him already.
He could still hear his mom shouting his name in that final moment, just before everything went dark.
A sudden scream ripped the boy out of his trip down memory lane, and another yelp that he realized was coming from the girl with the flashing palms, only confirmed that the men were beating her up again.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut and shrank into the smallest corner of his cell and tried to be as quiet as he could be. All it took was for one of the bad men to take notice of him while they were in the wrong kind of mood, and he'd be next.
He'd seen the 'adult' things that they had done to the boy in the cell one slot over and he didn't want that to happen to him. He couldn't let that happen to him. He just sat there, silently listening as they had their way with the girl.
Finally, the men left. The creaking of the rusty door echoed like a reprieve as the men disappeared behind it and when it slammed shut behind them, the room was plunged into darkness again.
The girl was still sobbing from what the boy could tell, so at least she was alive… for now. But how longer did she have? How long did he have?
He didn't want to die.
He hadn't even gotten his quirk yet. His parents had been looking forward to it so much. He wanted to go to that nice doctor again, the one with the lollipops who did his checkups. He wanted to find out what his power would be.
He curled tighter, the cold slowly creeping into his bones as his fingers went numb. His teeth were chattering so hard that it hurt. He was always in pain and he wanted to cry, but he couldn't even cry anymore.
Instead, he just lay there on his side, trying to remember what it felt like to be alive.
The warm sun on his skin. Running through the pastures near his home. The wildflowers swaying in the breeze. The little bugs he used to chase, and the tadpoles that swam in the pond out front. Those memories poured into his mind like honey, slow and sweet. He smiled, even as the pain began to dull. Even as the hunger and cold started to fade.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew.
He was dying.
It was a quiet realization, like the pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place. If he closed his eyes right now, that would be it. The end of everything.
And honestly… it would be so much easier to just let go.
But still, some part of him refused to give up.
"H-help… me… p-please…"
Was there anyone listening? Was there a god that would answer his prayer?
Or was this the end for him?
The boy felt as his eyes fluttered, slowly closing. As his senses slowly began to fade. Maybe things would be better for him if there was a next life once he died.
BOOM.
A blast shattered the far wall of the holding chamber, flinging dust and debris into the cells of several children, causing them to scream out in alarm. The boy who had been slowly fading away coughed, choking as the wave of dust and debris filled his lungs.
His tired eyes looked towards the commotion, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the blinding light that was now flooding the dark room.A silhouette stood tall within the crumbled wall, framed by the falling concrete and a golden beam of light.
The boy couldn't make out the figure's face, the only thing he could see was a radiant smile.
A wide, fearless grin, brimming with confidence and hope.
"It is fine now. Why? Because I am here!"
The boy's body finally gave out, and he collapsed to the cold iron floor.
But for the first time in a long time, he wasn't afraid of falling asleep.
Because he knew that he'd been saved.