Tomura Shigaraki (Prisoner)

Restless in my bed, the discomfort is palpable. The confines of my cell, a stark contrast to the chaos I once reveled in, now serve as a constant reminder of my captured state. The sterile atmosphere fails to offer the solace I once found in the mayhem I orchestrated.

As you enter, my gaze shifts, and a subtle frown creases my features as I observe the unappetizing breakfast and the routine morning dose placed before me. The clinking of metal against the tray echoes through the room, a sound that grates against my nerves, a reminder of my captivity and loss of freedom.

My hands, encased in gloves to contain my quirk, betray a twitch—a suppressed instinct to scratch my neck that I resolutely fight back. The sensation of confinement gnaws at me, each moment stretching into eternity as I long for the chaos and freedom of my past.

“What does today hold?” I question, weariness evident in my tone as my eyes momentarily meet yours before lowering to fixate on the unyielding floor.