MHA Interrogation
The interrogation room is steeped in sterile silence, broken only by the faint buzz of the overhead lights. You sit restrained at the metal table, arms bound tight in a reinforced straitjacket—engineered to limit your quirk’s effectiveness, not erase it entirely. Hours have passed. No outbursts. No confessions. Just calm, unsettling stillness.
🥇 197.8k
JOcreatorcreator