The punching bag was a mere blur in front of him, his body stuck in the repeated motions that he could have done them while actually blind.

Punch. Dodge. Jab. Step back.

It was completely useless in an actual fight, but within the pattern time slowly slipped away. The pain on his knuckles numbing completely as minutes went by.

The sound of coughing snapped him out of his trance, looking over at the source. He could only make out the rough outline of the person, but, given the usual routine, this was most likely the poor janitor trying to finish doing his job.

Giving the man a quick apology, he walked over to where his belonging were laid out on a nearby bench. After groping around for his glasses, he pushed them onto his sweaty face.

The world painfully came into focus, unveiling the school's nearly empty training room. The Freshman had left hours ago, with the JV and Varsity members of the MMA club following at some point between then and now.

It didn't matter to him what the other members did these days anyways. They'd all come to the silent agreement that his injury was severe enough to take him out of any competitions during the season, but not severe enough to warrant kicking him off the team.

Again, it didn't matter. Not when that old injury was beginning to flare up as the adrenaline wore off. With a grunt, he sat on the bench and began stretching out his bad leg. Only now did he realize just how hard he was breathing, just how constricted his lungs felt. He'd pushed himself far too hard today, and his body was fighting against the havoc he'd put it through.

When his leg's throbbing lessened to a bearable degree, he stood up and walked out of the building with a slight limp.

It was only the first week of September and yet, this far into the Catskills, the nights already held a chill that only hinted at what was to come that winter. Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, he walked unflinchingly into the cold air.

The walk to his dorm was short, boring, and completely uneventful. The back roads were empty leading up to the old brick building, the sounds of chatter and the occasional laugh escaping an open window. It was a Friday night, most of his classmates were hanging out or at a party trying to make the most of the beginning of the weekend.

Opening up the front door, he was greeted by the sight of the empty lobby. For whatever reason, the room was always uncomfortably hot, even in the summertime. Leaving the stuffy area for the far better ventilated hallways, he limped past a group of giggling gals; their stumbling gaits and harsh breaths belying the amount of alcohol they'd consumed already.

He took a deep breath upon coming to the stairs. Stairs hurt like a motherfucker on days like these.

The pain running up and down his leg and burning through his lungs forced him to take a break at the top of the four flights of stairs. It subsided enough that he made it down the hall to his dorm room.

Fishing his key from his duffel bag, the door unlocked and swung inwards. Not bothering to turn on the light, he flung his bag over onto his bed as he took in the dark room. A small desk covered in various books and trinkets, a basic plastic chair, and a bookshelf bare other than the handful of novels he managed to read in his limited free time matched his blank stare.

He went to take in a deep breath, only to have his lungs viciously constrict on him. Collapsing to his knees in shock, he clawed at his throat and chest as his body screamed at him to purge the buildup of carbon dioxide in his blood. All he needed to do was to make it to his bag scarcely a foot behind him to get to his rescue inhaler. With the prospect of being able to function again, he planted his left foot and pushed himself up.

His ruined ACL promptly flared and the sensation of his leg being sawed off had him collapse onto his back in breathless agony, his glasses bouncing off the floor further into the darkness. He could barely manage a strangled wheeze from his mouth, the pain coming from his old injury keeping him from moving his leg at all.

He could move his arm. Pushing himself up as far as he could go as his blurry vision began to go black, he reached out for his duffel bag.

All he need to do was get his rescue inhaler.

That was the last thought on his mind as he blacked out.

Outside the dormitory, a figure wearing a hoodie walked up the steps.

The shadows around the building flickered briefly, before rushing up towards the roof.

…

…

The smell of something arid stung against his nostrils, pulling him head first back into reality. His vision was still blurry, but there was a drastic enough change in the lighting to tell him he was no longer in his room. His hands were firmly tied behind his back while his feet were bound to the point where his range of motion was limited to an awkward shuffle.

Which was exactly what he was doing. Something had a firm grip on his shoulder and was forcefully leading him down a corridor of some kind. His poor vision could only barely make out the rough outlines of the walls on either sides of them, bright streaks leaking down in odd locations here and there.

All the while, the potent smell of some chemical cocktail was only getting stronger.

The hallway widened out considerably, into some kind of open-air room he mused. His thoughts ground to a halt upon reaching a less solid, grate-like catwalk.

One that was directly above the source of the smell.

He tried to fight against the restraints, but without proper leverage he could only twist his arms uselessly. They stopped just at the edge, on of his feet half out in the air.

The was a moment of silence, before the sounds of mutterings broke out. Twisting his neck in an attempt to get a look at his abductor, a vaguely humanoid looking black shape was behind him and appeared to be talking to another one further away. It reached out with its other appendage and tightly gripped the top of his head, forcing him to face forwards once more.

He attempted to struggle against the force, but it felt as though every muscle in his body was fighting against his efforts.

The he was kicked off the catwalk.

The sickening sense of vertigo overtook him, and all he could do was watch with wide eyes as he slammed into the vat of acid.

Whatever the hellish concoction was, it was nothing if not effective. Within moments, it had already ate through the rope and his clothing like they weren't even there. The sensation of his outermost layer of skin being eaten away burned itself into his nerves.

IS THIS ACCEPTABLE?

Some voice not unlike his own boomed out from within his head, echoing out loudly enough to shake his bones. But he didn't care for it. All he cared for was getting to the side wall before his fingers dissolved.

IS. THIS. ACCEPTABLE?

It repeated itself just as his flailing hand knocked against concrete. He promptly scrambled against it, finding a hand hold only an arms length away.

IS HOW YOU WISH TO DIE?

N-No

He could barely think at this point. He'd managed to pull himself halfway out of the solution, but the damage was already done. It'd corroded away his eyelids and dissolved his eyes, burned away his hair and scarred his scalp. The pain was killing him, and it took all his concentration to keep his hand in place as he could feel the muscles in his arms breaking down.

THEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

He was trying to not get turned into another part of the acidic soup he was half submerged in. Trying and failing. His legs had gone mercifully numb, but that just meant now that he was slowly beginning to sink further in.

ARE YOU JUST GOING TO LIE DOWN AND DIE?

His grip on the concrete faltered, the ligaments holding his hand in a grip were failing. He braced himself as best as he could, and pulled hard.

The remaining muscle strained and pulled before snapping, blood flying everywhere.

He screamed, but the effort had done its job. His remains lay against the edge of the container for a moment, before his broken arm snapped off and the balance shifted.

Bloody guts and gore splattered across the floor, the half dissolved mess of internal organs and tissue spreading out as they decayed.

SO THEN, FLAIL, KICK, AND SCREAM. FOR YOUR EXISTENCE IS NOT ONE TO FADE QUIETLY INTO THE NIGHT.

The puddle of vomit and shit shifted, before seemingly propping up like puppet being pulled by its strings. Blood spattered as bone and muscle began their unnatural regeneration. Cartilage flowed into their proper molds, with bone marrow filling in the empty spaces. Muscle fibers stretched and grew, a dozen strands taking the place of where a single one once resided; repairing hundreds of previously small, and in the case of behind his left knee large, damaged areas. Lungs no longer prone to filling up with liquid took their place behind his ribcage. Skin stretched over the entire canvas of blood and bone and organs, pulling together the entire body. The skull reformed, the brain reconstructed, and soft, brown hair grew out in moments. Hazel eyes opened and blinked rapidly, unused to the level of detail that 20/20 vision granted.

Brian Miller flexed his hands for a moment before looking over at where his abductors were. The one that had physically thrown him into the vat wasn't there, but there were a few that were still around.

He tensed his legs, getting a feel for what it was like to be able to properly move his left leg for the first time in over a year, before lunging forward.

With a speed that surprised both target and assailant, Brian slammed his fist into the unsuspecting mug of the first thing. It's head practically exploded from the force of the impact; the rest of its body slumping over before beginning to dissolve.

He could feel the bones in his hand pop and crack as they repaired the damage the attack had caused to himself.

Looking over at the last two humanoids, he smiled.