Overhaul

The only thing left for him now had been his own voice inside his head, reminding him of what he had done. Not to say he felt regret for anything or anyone aside from the man who took him in off the streets. He, who raised him after rescuing a small boy rummaging around in the trash for his next meal, and the mere thought threatened tears that had come more frequent these days. He hated how weak he had become. How disgustingly wrong he felt the moment his arms were taken from him by Shigaraki and Mr. Compress the day of his arrest. How heavily he relied on his own powerful Quirk while researching a way to eradicate everyone else’s.

His ideals were flawed, but his broken mind refused to dig that deep to confront them head on. Instead, he was caught in an endless cycle, replaying the moment of his decision to disassemble and the reassemble his adoptive father into an Overhaul induced coma until his plans were completed. Now? Now they would never be complete and it was thanks to his own blind arrogance and his dealings with the League of Villains.. He lay in his own silence with only the slow drip of water from the near by faucet he could not even turn the rest of the way to stop the sound from driving him mad. His furrowed brow knitted together, his amber eyes wide cleared of that usual, aloof expression he wore when he was the young leader of the Shie Hassaikai. His hair had grown slightly longer, with his dark brown strands in an untamed mess and the light scruff that shadowed over his once clean shaven chin.

“Father?” his voice was deep, unsteady with his lips forming one of few words since that day. Father. Boss. Old man. All referring to the same person in different ways. His head lulled to the side of his pillow where he lay on his prison bed to the heavy metal door of his cell creaked open enough for the artificial light from the corridors spilled in. His eyes refocused against the brightness as the silhouette of a figure stepped under the threshold of his dimly lit domain.

“Pops?” he asked again, but without his arms he was unable to push himself to sit at the edge of his bed quickly enough to situate himself. “I’m sorry, Pops.”

Psychologist. He didn’t need one. Yet the incessant powers that be insisted he devote a few hours a week to one. He hated it, and he had nothing to say to them. The only words he had were saved for his comatose Father he had induced on him, and how sorry he was for all he had done to achieve his ambitions. He saw no value in anything or anyone else and when he found himself forced to sit face to face with the prison doctors he was less than cooperative.

“Why should I tell you anything? Take me to my Father and I will talk. Until then, you are wasting your time on me.” He would speak calmly, though there was a quiver in his usual silky tone. It was odd in the sense that Kai Chisaki had been diagnosed as a certified hyper intellectual and yet he was unable to see his predicament and had long since lost the upper hand. For some reason, he still desired to hold onto a little bit of control, even if it was futile.

“Why do you even care? Are you going to head Doctor me into believing that my actions were a product of my environment and upbringing? I refuse to let you use this as a way to pick through my past, present and future like I have no control anymore,” he lifted his arms to remind the doctor of his handicap now that he was robbed of his arms and his Quirk. He had no control any more, but he did not want them to see that.

“Are we done here?” he stated bluntly, shifting back a little from the edge of his bed until his back rested against the wall.