A/N- Hi! This is my first published work. Please don't kill me. I don't really expect critical reception to be gentle, or even expect critical reception at all, but hey. Girl's gotta hope.

As stated in the story synopsis right up there, the powers, skills, and general situation of the protagonist were built with the Worm CYOA v5. I don't own either the Worm CYOA or Worm.

The specific build used won't be actually put out there, so you'll just have to extrapolate from the capabilities she presents~! Or the monologues. Lots of those...

Anyway, thanks for reading. Criticisms appreciated. Updates Soon™.

Edit: Text freshened up by the story's new beta, Mr. Jengablock!

I retched, tears running down my face.

Bile spilled onto the pavement. It smelled like death. Everything did - but maybe it was just my head messing with me. I was gripping my hoodie, ripped off in a mad rush as I was taken by an all-consuming nervous claustrophobia. Bright red blood stained it, half-hidden against its colors, but I still held it for dear life as I began to run, as if it could protect me from what I had done.

It wasn't fireproof.

I woke up with open eyes.

This was odd. I did not usually wake up with open eyes; that implies that I slept with open eyes, which can be a serious medical condition. I met someone like that once. It was a little terrifying, the way that they slept with their vacant eyes pointed upwards - but, well, it took me a few more seconds to make a much more pertinent observation.

There was no ceiling. And I was staring at a cloudy sky. In a dark alleyway. ...Hey, that one sort of looks like a really fluffy bunny-

I yelped, surging onto my feet as blood rushed into my head. My vision darkened for a moment–cursed be low blood pressure–but I stabilized myself quickly even as I hyperventilated.

What the hell? Where was I? My imagination pulled up several worst-case scenarios - I could have been knocked out by a mugger, had my kidneys stolen, ra- not going there (No pain though, and I don't smell anything iffy).

I checked my pockets. No wallet, no phone, no keys–thank fuck, they didn't take my school keycard, I'd have to actually talk to that insufferable secretary–

That's not my school keycard.

I pulled the much thinner card from my hoodie's pocket, inspecting its featureless and black surface. In my limitless wisdom, I noted that there was something odd in the background. Particularly in regards to my body.

No, I didn't change my sex or anything clichéd like that. Really, that'd probably be a lot easier on me, if a little more psychologically bothering. No. There was a much more relevant issue than my genitals.

Hooves. I have hooves. And, uh, leg fur. Lots and lots of very black, fluffy leg fur. It looked like a weird fur bottom on my pants, but the terrible itching I was starting to feel now that the adrenaline was coming down got rid of that possibility.

Ohhhhh. I get it. I get it now. I felt my head get a little lighter. I giggled involuntarily, pocketing my newfound Bat-card as I covered my mouth. With my blue-skinned hands, I noted, peeking at the space between my glove and wrist. My heart started beating a little faster, as I ran a hand across my face.

On my forehead, my fingers began to trace the base of what felt like a set of smooth horns that curved around my skull, like that of a young goat, but somewhat oversized. There was no sensation from them, but touching the base produced an odd tingle that made my hands flinch away.

Reaching down, I could also feel what seemed like a thin, arrow-tipped tail tucked into the back of my hoodie, writhing against its bonds slightly, though I could just barely sense it. I froze.

Then I collapsed into full-blown laughter, my head thrown back as the utter ridiculousness of my predicament set in. I knew what had happened; I had, after all, decided on this very appearance on a whim a long time ago.

I liked planning and letting my imagination run wild across fictional worlds. This naturally attracted me to the concept of choice games. Of course, I couldn't have ended up with one of the horribly overpowered comfort or immortality builds that I'd made over the years. It had to be this: the one where I'd purposefully made myself a squishy inhuman grab-bag vigilante optimized for mass terrorism, that didn't even get powers until… something, happened. I couldn't remember what the triggering conditions were, or if I had written any. Actually, did I doom myself into staying an unpowered vigilante for the rest of my life?

…

No, that was too horrible to think about. I couldn't remember exactly what powers I picked out, either. It'd been a while ago, but I did remember one thing. I'd paid for more powers with a single day of horrible, disastrous bad luck. In summary… Hello, Earth Bet. Please don't kill me.

I realized after a moment that I had said that out loud and sighed nervously, looking around to check for anyone that could have heard me. Mad amusement gave way to consternation, and I took a moment to regain my footing before deigning to exit this sorry excuse for an alleyway before I was dogpiled by gangsters. Surprise disadvantage-mandated gangsters. I had a plan, of course, from long evenings spent thinking about what I would do if I ever found myself in Worm. I'd simply go to the authorities and make myself useful with the metaknowledge I had. I'm sure Cauldron would appreciate someone who knew what I did about the original timeline. Or maybe Contessa would just shoot me on sight.

I paused, before scowling and looking up at the sky, a defiant look on my face.

"Contessa, Contessa, CONTESSA!"

Nothing happened. I looked around, pursing my lips. After a moment, I tried again.

"Cauldron, Cauldron, Cauldron! … Fortuna, Fortuna, Fortuna?"

A newspaper page was blown by the wind in the street in front of me. Nothing continued to be the general response.

Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. Not eager to start hyperventilating again, I began to think up a plan to get in touch with the bastards in charge–if only to distract myself. I sighed, pulling up my hood and walking up to the street. It seemed to be rather late in the evening, and the streets were gloomy and empty aside from the occasional passerby. About four out of five were Asian, I noted. I was careful not to assume that this was ABB territory just because there were Asian people. That'd be waaay racist of me, after all. Instead, what clued me in were the garish gang tags strewed around the place.

...Well, fuck you kindly, Earth Bet. I quickly realized that, too, was said out loud, before muttering wrathful nothings at myself and walking on. I'd have to find a payphone of some sort, hopefully somewhere that didn't seem like it had an average of one murder per square meter.

In retrospect, that whole deal should've clued me in not to walk blindly across a corner. I guess the idiocy of calling your gang the 'Azn Bad Boyz' somewhat boggled my mind. I mean, really, Lung? You really couldn't think of any-

I ran into someone.

I instinctively lowered my head, rolling with the sudden shove and clued in by what sounded like a loud, japanese swear. I really, really hoped they wouldn't look down at my feet. Or notice the horns under the hoodie. I also really hoped they'd let me go–three pairs of legs, all clad in shirts with green on them, and jeans, from my limited field of view. Very much not something I'm prepared for.

"I- I'm s-sorry! I don't want any trouble!," I stuttered.

I'd have liked to say it was a clever ruse to make them underestimate me, and maybe use whatever remnant of empathy they might have to my benefit. But, well, I was really just… scared. I'd definitely ran into my fair share of wannabe gangbangers back in public school, and saw at least three muggings, if only at a distance, and I'd never been really intimidated by them–even sort of talked to one once (It might have been nice if he wasn't holding a plastic bag full of joints and hitting on me).

But, well, nobody had actually ever tried to intimidate me. I kept to myself. This was definitely out of my experience. The pistol-shaped bulge at the frontman's hip, under his shirt, didn't help.

"Watch where you go, bitch! What the fuck is a whiny little shit like you even doing around here anyway? You lost?", he sneered. The rough, somewhat accented voice brought me out of my thoughts.

Experience taught me that gang members were definitely people too instead of cardboard cutouts, and therefore mostly didn't go out of their day to fuck with people for no reason. I had to assume that I'd caught this guy and his friends on a bad day - and that meant trouble.

"S-sorry!", I repeated. A verbal tic that I'd never quite gotten rid of - compulsive apologizing. I was definitely thinking much clearer than I normally would've but I was still fairly nervous. "I- I was distracted! I didn't mean it! I- I don't know where this is and I just wanna go home!"

That made the gangsters pause, apparently. Evidently, they don't expect an affirmative response when asking if random people are lost.

(Maybe it helped a little that what I said was sort of true.)

There was some back and forth between the gangsters. Sadly, I didn't actually know Japanese (and isn't it awfully convenient that they all speak it? Must be an established unit), even if I could sort of recognize it.

"...Fucking hell. Nobody's ever actually been lost before." On a cue, the other two gangsters snorted, shooting off what sounded like Japanese snark at what seemed to be the leader: he seemed older than the other two, by his voice which was a particularly manly, early twenties tone, made more striking by the contrast with the other two in their late teens. I'm not sure what I was expecting - but it sure wasn't this. Maybe they were actually decent people, after all?

He continued. "Hey, show me your face." I paused at that.

"Um- uh, sorry," fucking hell, "why?"

He sounded like he was grinning now. It didn't sound like a nice grin.

"So I can see if you're pretty enough to pay me for my help, bitch."

My heart dropped into a pit inside my chest. My extremities started to tingle. I couldn't tell when I'd started biting my lip, but I could feel the coppery taste of blood flowing on my tongue. "I mean, you've got nice tits-" I could feel the echo of tears in my eyes as they widened (At least now I knew why he didn't notice the hooves). "But it wouldn't do to stick my dick inside a monkey, huh?" My whole body started to tremble. Something snapped inside me. His hand reached for my chin. It felt like a million cockroaches skittering towards me–and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Except there was, now. I didn't have to be a victim (weak) anymore. I inwardly touched a part of me that I'd been repressing: unconscious, kinesthetic knowledge that somehow didn't connect to memory. It felt like the way I knew how to breathe, but more… alien. Like a thrumming, energetic urge to move, but skillful and connected with a deep, insidious drive for aggression. I'd done martial arts before, but this part of my mind was synchronized with my being on a much more fundamental level than my half-hearted taekwondo lessons. The floodgates opened, and, well…

I knew seven ways to kill a man with a handkerchief and a keychain.

I'm... not really sure what happened to me at that point. I just felt a touch on my chin and -

krcK- "AHHH!" -I felt something snap in my hand.

It was an absolutely exhilarating feeling, that crackle, realizing what I had done. On some level, I just wanted to run away, to take the men's shock after that surge and leave without getting into more trouble - but that didn't matter at the moment. I was… angry. More than I'd care to admit to myself. The sheer feeling of power that coursed through me probably had a good deal to do with it. I'd never… hurt someone like that before. And these men felt like a representation of everything I hated about the world.

I really, really wanted to hurt them more. And I felt like I could, so I did.

He never saw it coming - In what felt like an instant, I threw a hooved snap kick to his groin and pulled his extended arm towards me with my left hand, my right swiftly punching him in the nose, and he fell like a sack of chopped meat, caught between trying to protect his nethers and face. Nothing hurt. There was a very distinct lack of the aches and pains I was used to living with, leaving me with a heavenly feeling of weightlessness and strength.

There was a gun in my hand - did I take it from the gangster? Somehow, it didn't seem to matter. I just felt a comforting certainty of what I had to do.

Aim. Squeeze.

BANG.

Turn a bit left. Squeeze.

BANG.

My ears rang - guns were loud. But it didn't make me flinch or blink; even as the two followers collapsed, droplets of blood mixed with brain matter flying out of their heads, I wasn't quite done. The handgun felt less like a weapon in my hands and more like a toy as I pointed it downwards,. Much lighter than I'd have expected–though it was more likely that I was the strange one, rather than the gun. I pulled the trigger, the crystal clarity in my mind fading away when it was no longer needed.

BANG.

I couldn't help it. My finger twitched, I fired again.

BANG.

I could help it, this time. I just didn't want the silence to go on.

BANG.

...His insides were outsides now. Heh.

I puked.

Wish fulfillment isn't all it's cracked to be. I wanted to go home now. I prayed to anything that might hear as the tears started to flow.

God may have heard, but he didn't listen. Something else did.

I heard a roar.