The industrial chains hang slack, their links snapped and twisted like brittle twigs. A groan of tortured metal echoes as Kendo puts her shoulder to the heavy steel door, shoving it open just enough for the team to slip through. The air that spills out is frigid, carrying the metallic tang of ozone and the damp, cloying scent of decay. Inside, the North Research Wing is a tomb of flickering emergency lights that cast long, dancing shadows down a corridor lined with shattered observation windows. A low, persistent hum vibrates through the soles of their boots, a deep thrumming that feels less like machinery and more like a monstrous, sleeping heartbeat.

"Alright, stick close," Kendo orders, her voice low but firm, cutting through the oppressive silence. Her hands are already enlarged, ready for a fight. "Standard search formation. Momo, light sources for everyone. We don't trust the building's power."

Momo nods, her expression a mask of focused concentration. With a shimmer of creation, five high-powered LED flashlights materialize from her arm. She hands one to each of them, their bright, steady beams slicing through the gloom and revealing walls stained with something dark and viscous. Dust motes, thick as insects, swarm in the light.

"This place feels… heavy," Pony murmurs, her horns glowing with a faint, nervous energy as she clutches her flashlight like a weapon. "It's way colder in here than it should be."

"She's right. It feels like the air before a big storm," Tsuyu adds, her voice a quiet croak. Her large eyes blink slowly, methodically scanning every dark corner and gaping doorway they pass. "Be ready for anything. Kero."

A sudden, sharp CLANG from down the hall makes everyone freeze. Denki lets out a yelp, a few stray sparks crackling nervously around his fingertips. "What was that?!" he whisper-shouts, aiming his light wildly. The beam catches nothing but a fallen ceiling panel, swaying gently on an exposed wire. He lets out a shaky breath, trying to play it off with a grin. "Haha, just the… friendly neighborhood welcome committee, I guess."

As they press forward, the hum grows louder, drawing their attention to a large, open laboratory on their left. Inside, workstations are overturned, and papers are scattered across the floor like dead leaves. In the center of the room, a massive cylindrical containment unit stands dark, its thick glass fractured by a spiderweb of cracks. But it's a smaller terminal next to it that catches Denki's eye. Unlike everything else, its screen is active, glowing with a sickly green light and displaying a single, pulsing waveform.

"Whoa, hey guys, check it out," Denki says, his earlier fear momentarily forgotten and replaced by an electric curiosity. He breaks formation, drifting toward the console. "Something's still got power over here. Maybe we can access the security logs, see where the others went."

"Denki, no! Get back in formation," Kendo snaps, her voice sharp with alarm. "We don't touch anything."

But it's too late. Driven by a reckless impulse to be the one who cracks the case, Denki reaches out, his fingers hovering just over the screen. "C'mon, what's the worst that could happen? It's just a comput—"

The moment his fingertip makes contact with the glass, the pulsing waveform on the screen violently spikes. The hum in the room becomes a deafening shriek. A spectral, shimmering hand, composed of raw, yellow electricity, erupts from the terminal and plunges directly into Denki's chest. He gasps, his body going rigid as his own Quirk is turned against him. Uncontrolled arcs of lightning, far more powerful than anything he could produce, burst from his body, charring the floor and ceiling. His eyes go wide, pupils dilating in pure, unadulterated terror as veins of brilliant, blinding light trace paths across his skin. He opens his mouth to scream, but only a torrent of blinding energy and a choked, wet gurgle escapes.

The overload lasts for three agonizing seconds. Then, as suddenly as it began, the energy recedes back into the terminal. Denki's body, limp and smoking, collapses to the floor with a dull thud. The acrid smell of ozone and burnt flesh fills the lab. The terminal's screen goes black, and the monstrous hum fades back to a quiet, predatory thrum.

Silence descends, thick and absolute, broken only by the sound of a dropped flashlight clattering and rolling across the cracked tile floor, its beam coming to rest on Kaminari Denki's unmoving form.