Adrian lay on a stiff bed, eyes glued to the cracked ceiling, idly spinning a pencil between his fingers. The dull scraping of graphite against his thumb was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.
"How the hell did I get into this situation?" he muttered, brow furrowing. "Right. Let me retrace this circus."
It started with him waking up in a public park at night — no phones, no wallet, just the clothes on his back and a head full of anime powers. The chill of New York's midnight breeze still lingered in his bones.
Then came the weird part. His body started acting... different. He chalked it up to One For All, but when he felt his heart pounding like an overclocked engine and his muscles twitching like they were charging for a punch that never came, he made the biggest mistake since he landed in this world.
He went to the hospital.
"Dumbest move of my goddamn life," Adrian grumbled.
They ran tests. And then more tests. And then the moment he heard the word X-Gene, he knew he was cooked.
"Congratulations, Mr. Uh... Unidentified? You appear to be a mutant. High activation levels in your genome. Fascinating!"
Yeah. Fascinating. So fascinating that the minute he stepped outside to "get some air," he was tranquilized and tossed into the back of a van. Woke up in a cage.
A mutant experimentation facility.
Real classy.
Adrian blinked as a knock echoed against his cell door.
"Five-two-eight, stand up. Room check," came a gravelly voice.
He sighed, stood up with a deadpan expression, and positioned himself facing the wall, arms folded behind his back.
The metallic hiss of the door opening was followed by two uniformed guards stepping inside. They scanned the small cell, flashlight beams briefly painting every corner.
"Looks clear."
One of them dropped a tray onto the table with a thud.
"Breakfast. Don't choke."
They left without another word.
"Assholes," Adrian mumbled, turning to his food.
Half a stale slice of bread. A withered apple. A cup of lukewarm water that probably wasn't even filtered.
He sat and picked at it. "At least it's not moldy. I read comics where they didn't even get blankets."
After finishing, he paced the room.
"I need to start training. I can't even access one percent of OFA without my bones crackling like glow sticks. No signs of Blackwhip, Float, Smokescreen — nada. And the eight mystery quirks? Still locked tighter than Fort Knox."
His fingers drummed the wall. "This sucks. I should be training. Helping people. Not stuck in some dingy-ass dungeon getting poked and prodded like a science fair project."
Still, he'd managed to learn a few things.
Adrian's Known Info About the Camp:
Facility is underground. Concrete, steel, and more cameras than a casino.
Multiple levels: containment, labs, admin, and vehicles.
Guards rotate every 8 hours. Weakest security shift: midnight to 4 a.m.
Escape routes: Limited. Best chance is stealing a vehicle during a shift change, but the main gates are locked down.
Suddenly, a siren blared.
"ALL PRISONERS REPORT TO THE MAIN YARD FOR MORNING COUNT."
Adrian groaned.
Inspection Scene
He marched in line with dozens of other prisoners. Some looked dazed, some scared, others just broken. The morning air was dry and sharp.
They all stood in the large gravel yard, each one assigned a number.
"Five-two-eight. Adrian."
He raised his hand.
"Present."
Guards walked down the lines with scanners, taking notes. Mutant powers nullifiers flickered on every wrist — sleek silver cuffs that burned at the touch.
Some prisoners whispered. Some were just silent.
Adrian stood there, biting his cheek.
"I need to get out of here... soon."
Training Attempt
Back in his cell, he dropped into a push-up position.
"Gotta push. Just like Saitama. One hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats. No air conditioning... well, got that part down."
Two hours later.
"Ninety-seven... ninety-eight... ninety-nine... ONE HUNDRED—"
He collapsed face-first onto the floor.
"Holy hell. The One Punch Man training sucks. Why'd I think this would help?"
Daily Experimentation
"Return to your cells. You will be called for experimentation in one hour."
Adrian leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
He hated this part.
Every day, five or more inmates were dragged out. Probed. Shocked. Tested under stress.
His first time had been hell.
"They thought breaking my bones might unlock something," he muttered. "Didn't work. Just hurt. A lot."
He returned to his bed and pulled out a worn book. Some random sci-fi novel about space pirates and robot kings.
He flipped through the pages.
"Wait a second. how long have i been reading?"
He checked the clock.
Six minutes.
He stared at the book. Flipped to a random page.
"Page 147. 'He fired the beam and turned toward the crumbling citadel—'"
He blinked.
"...What the hell? I remember this? Word for word?"
He tried again. Random page. Memorized.
He paused.
"Wait a minute... Am I getting smarter? No — not just smarter... I'm processing things faster. Memorizing. Analyzing. Recalling."
His eyes widened.
"He is thinking any quirk they can enhance intelligence"
"Holy shit. High Specs. Nezu's quirk. That has to be it. That's surely must be one of the hidden quirks!"
His heartbeat quickened.
"That explains everything. Why I'm seeing patterns. Why I can chart guard rotations in my head. Why I understand the air vents better than the guards do."
He stood up.
A malicious grin tugged at his lips.
"Heh... I think I know what I'm doing today."