The room was cold, but not freezing. Just a little too cool to forget where he was.
Rei sat on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off the side. He didn't move much. There wasn't anything to do, and not much space to do it in anyway. The mattress was flat. The blanket was thin. The table in the corner didn't have any drawers or chairs. There was a shelf, but it was empty. No clock. No mirror. No sounds except the low, faint hum of the ceiling light.
This was his room now.
It was better than the other place. The black hallways. The experiments. The pain. That place had felt… darker. Like it wasn't real.
This room felt real. Too real. Too quiet.
He lifted a hand, then lowered it. Tried again. Nothing happened. No ghost hands. No flicker. No whisper of energy. The room suppressed his quirk—he could feel it, like there was a heavy blanket over his brain. He'd felt it since the moment he woke up here. It hadn't gone away.
He didn't try again.
Instead, he just sat.
There was a sound outside. Not loud. Not rushed. Footsteps—steady. One set.
Rei didn't look up until he heard the lock click.
The door opened slowly. A guard stepped in—tall, wearing the same armor as the ones from yesterday. His helmet covered his face. He didn't say hello. Just held something up.
Metal cuffs.
Rei stood without being told. His legs felt stiff. He put his arms forward, wrists together. The cuffs clicked around them with a soft hiss.
He felt even heavier now.
The guard stepped back. "Let's go."
Rei didn't ask where. He followed.
The hallway was clean. Empty. White and gray everywhere. The lights made everything feel kind of hollow. He didn't see any windows. Just walls. Big metal doors. Cameras above each one.
He didn't count how many doors they passed. There was no point.
Each one looked exactly like the last—tall, gray, solid, with heavy seals and blinking lights above them. Some had small red panels. Others had none at all. Occasionally, he'd catch the faint hiss of ventilation or the soft shuffle of someone behind one of those doors, but he didn't look. He didn't want to look. Nothing out here belonged to him.
He kept his eyes low, fixed on the floor. The tiles were dull and off-white, perfectly clean, spaced evenly. No scuff marks. No stains. Just blank.
The only sounds were the dull hum of the lights above and the soft, regular clunk of the guard's boots beside him. Rei's own feet made less noise. His slippers—thin, standard-issue—padded each step like he wasn't fully there. The echo of the guard's steps felt louder in comparison, bouncing off the walls with an authority Rei didn't have anymore.
Left turn.
Long hallway.
Right turn.
Another hallway. The air smelled faintly sterile—like floor polish and something faintly metallic.
He had no idea where he was in the facility now. It didn't matter. Everything in Tartarus was meant to disorient. To erase the sense of direction. To make sure no one inside could feel grounded.
Finally, they stopped in front of a door. It was wider than the others, taller too. More reinforced. There were double panels beside it—one for entry, one for clearance. The guard stepped forward and began typing a code. Rei stood still, not curious. Not worried. Just… still.
The pad let out a short beep, and the lock disengaged with a low, mechanical hiss.
Rei blinked, slowly. His body didn't tense. He didn't feel nervous. He wasn't exactly calm either. Just tired. Not a physical tired—the kind that sleep didn't fix. A heaviness in his chest, in his head, like he'd been underwater too long and had forgotten what breathing properly felt like.
The door slid open.
Brighter light spilled out from the room beyond. Not natural light—nothing here came from the sun—but something warmer than the flickering fluorescents of the halls. Still artificial. Still sterile. But it reminded him vaguely of hospitals. Or offices.
He stepped in when the guard gestured.
The room was simple. No decorations, but not as empty as his cell. A desk sat near the far wall with two plastic chairs in front of it. There was an old coffee machine sitting crookedly on a table in the corner—dusty, possibly broken. One vent overhead rattled slightly as it blew air. Another guard stood waiting—no helmet, this one. Older. Sharper eyes. A uniform pressed with exact lines.
The one who had escorted him cleared his throat. "Inmate six-zero-seven-two. Escort complete."
Rei flinched.
That word again. Inmate. Like it stamped over his name. Like that was all he was now.
The second man didn't immediately acknowledge him. Just nodded at the guard. Without another word, the first turned and left. The door shut behind him with a mechanical hiss, sealing them in.
Now it was just Rei and the man behind the desk.
The man glanced down at a tablet and began tapping a few things into it. He didn't speak at first. The silence stretched. Rei didn't break it.
Then the man looked up.
"Name?"
Rei hesitated. His throat felt dry.
"…Rei."
The man squinted down at the screen, then at Rei's face again.
"Not going by Eidolon anymore, huh?"
The sound of the name made Rei's chest twist. His stomach gave a small, invisible shudder. That word felt worse than "inmate."
He didn't respond.
The man studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged slightly, like it wasn't worth pushing.
"Alright," he said simply, tapping the tablet again. "Orientation's next. You'll be assigned a series of tasks—basic labor, cleaning, carrying supplies. You'll be under supervision the whole time. You'll get details shortly."
He pointed lazily at one of the chairs against the wall.
"Sit. Wait here."
Rei nodded once and crossed the room. His hands were still cuffed. He didn't ask to have them removed. He didn't expect it.
He sat.
The plastic seat creaked faintly under his weight. It was cold. Not uncomfortable—just empty, like the rest of this place.
He looked forward. His eyes drifted to the wall ahead. It was blank. White. No chips. No dust. No color.
There wasn't anything to focus on. So he didn't.
He just sat.
And waited.
He didn't know how long it would be. Or what would happen next. Or if it would be worse, or better, or neither.
But the day had started.
And he was still here.
The wait ended when another door opened with a soft hiss.
A man stepped in—brown uniform, no weapons. Not a guard. Maybe staff. He had a short clipboard tucked under one arm and a pen clipped to the collar of his jacket. He looked at Rei like someone would look at a half-broken machine: aware it might still work, but cautious all the same.
Behind him came the same guard from earlier—helmet still on, visor down. Still silent. Watching.
"Let's go," the staff worker said simply.
Rei stood.
The cuffs stayed on, but the lights on them flickered. A different mode. Not totally locked down—just enough to keep things from slipping.
He followed the man through another hallway. The guard followed behind them, boots hitting the floor with the same measured rhythm.
They didn't speak.
The worker led him down a narrower corridor this time, one lined with locked storage compartments. Rei kept his eyes low, only glancing up when they reached a door labeled Supply Intake B. The staffer pressed his ID to a scanner. The door clunked and slid open.
Inside, there were shelves. Metal racks. Big bins lined the walls—stacked with folded towels, sealed food containers, cartons of cleaning supplies. It all smelled faintly of rubber and sanitizer. Near the door sat a stack of wooden crates. Not polished. Rough. Stained in places from use.
The worker stopped and pointed with his clipboard. "These go to Station Hall 3. You'll carry and follow me. Try not to drop anything."
Rei stepped toward them without a word.
The crates were solid—maybe half a meter wide, reinforced at the corners with dull metal brackets. No wheels. No handles. Just weight.
He crouched beside them and placed his hands on one. The wood bit slightly into his palms as he lifted.
It was heavy.
He could tell by how it creaked when it moved, how it resisted being pulled from the floor. Another person might've needed a dolly or two hands just for one.
Rei picked up two at once.
The weight didn't bother him.
His arms moved automatically—like muscle memory left behind from someone else's life. He didn't grunt or wince. Just adjusted his grip, one box under each arm, cuffs locked stiff between his wrists. The pressure didn't matter.
Behind him, the worker hesitated.
A faint pause in movement. A subtle blink.
"…Guess they weren't kidding about your file," he muttered under his breath. Not praise, exactly. More like quiet caution.
Rei didn't respond.
The worker turned and opened the next door. He didn't wait.
Rei followed.
The guard came last, boots tapping steadily behind them.
They walked.
Down another hall. Up a short ramp. Past a checkpoint that buzzed green without anyone asking questions. Two workers walked by and glanced at him. One looked away quickly. The other stared for a second too long.
The crates were still heavy, but not for Rei. His arms didn't shake. His steps didn't falter.
He didn't really feel the weight.
He just carried it.
Eventually, they reached a wider hallway—cleaner, with a polished floor and brighter lights. Station Hall 3. It had three large double doors along the left wall, all sealed. A loading area.
The staffer stopped and pointed again. "Set them there."
Rei did. He crouched, placed the boxes gently one at a time. The second one slipped slightly and bumped the ground with a light thud. The guard didn't move, but Rei could feel the weight of that helmeted gaze pressing into the back of his neck.
The worker made a mark on his clipboard. "You'll be doing rounds like this every morning. It'll vary. Next shift's in thirty minutes."
Rei nodded once.
That was it.
No praise. No scolding. Just motion.
The man turned and started back the way they'd come.
Rei followed again, empty-handed now. The cuffs felt heavier without the boxes to distract him. The guard walked behind as always.
He didn't speak.
He didn't ask what was next.
He just walked.
The work was done, so he was escorted back to his cell.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The days passed without names.
Rei didn't know what day it was. Didn't care to ask. They gave him thirty minutes of movement each morning—out of the cell, into a job. Always supervised. Always with the cuffs. He wasn't sure if the cuffs were still needed. But they stayed on anyway.
The work was always different, but the routine never changed.
One day he carried crates of medical supplies from storage to a supply station near the infirmary. Another, he helped re-stock pantry shelves in the staff kitchen, unpacking plastic bins filled with bulk bags of rice and protein powder. Once, he was tasked with wheeling a laundry cart down three halls and folding the clean linens inside, even though the folding was clearly just a test to see if he'd follow directions.
He did.
No complaints. No questions.
He didn't speak unless spoken to. Most of the workers didn't speak to him at all.
Some wouldn't even look at him.
They glanced when they thought he wasn't watching. Just long enough to confirm something. Fear. Caution. Curiosity. All the usual things. He got used to it.
The work wasn't hard. Not for him. Not after what he had been trained for. Physical labor felt distant, mechanical. Like his body was still running on leftover instructions. Lift. Carry. Stack. Repeat.
The only thing that made it tiring was the nothingness between.
The in-between hours were always the hardest—when he was back in the room, sitting on the bed or staring at the blank wall with nothing to do, no sound but the occasional low buzz from the quirk dampeners built into the ceiling.
He tried to remember things.
He tried to think about his life before. But most of it came in fogged shapes or broken flashes.
His mom's face blurred. Her voice lost to the echo of something warm he couldn't grab onto anymore. Her name sat at the edge of his mind like a book with the title ripped off.
It made his chest feel hollow.
He stopped trying after a while.
Even his nightmares, once constant, had faded to nothing. He woke up flat. Not peaceful, just… silent.
Aizawa visited once. Only for a few minutes. Said he'd check in again soon. Said progress was being watched.
Tsukauchi came too. More often. He never asked questions when Rei didn't speak. Just offered updates. Tests. Observations.
For now, there were only boxes to carry, floors to mop, things to sort.
Rei did what he was told.
Because that's what he knew how to do.
And maybe, that was enough for now.