DISCERP – (v) tear off, or to pieces
The door to the small hotel room was violently ripped off its hinges, a few screeches of sheer terror accentuating the destruction. The pink behemoth hooked its meaty, body-builder-sized fingers around the doorframe and gave a grunt of anger. He didn't care what happened to the innocents inside. As long as he got the creature who had taken his pinky off. More of the outer lights poured inside and the shrieks grew in volume, followed by jabbering.
The Tank couldn't help, during the tirade, to feel sorry for himself. What felt like a lifetime ago, he was a happy creature. No anger. No fear. No negativity. Maybe this was God's way, or whoever was turning innocent people into monsters or monster chow, of balancing out the universe. Nice people become swallowed in uncontrollable fits of rage. Sociable beings turn into crying, short tempered anorexics. Whatever the reason for his transformation, he hated it. He didn't want to be like this. But something more primal, instinctual, was controlling his actions. And it wouldn't let him stop until it was satisfied.
He finally found enough room to bend low and reach inside, grabbing a hold of the first thing to enter his grasp. He pulled back the kicking and squirming thing, holding it high in the air before bashing it against the ground. It stopped squirming. He raised it back up to his face and took a good look.
Covered face, green jacket, but it smelled different that he did. It didn't smell like his blood, but his primal side didn't care. It would pay the price for his pain.
Using his other hand, he grabbed an arm between two fingers and yanked hard in one direction. Muscles and bones tore with ease and a startled, wounded screech rattled his mind. He threw down the one arm and repositioned the bleeding, thrashing body to remove the second arm. He took his time with the second limb, twisting it tauter and just watching the thing's head whip back and forth, feet curling up to kick weakly at his hand.
He dropped the twitching body after letting it wriggle a few more time, satisfied and horrified with his handiwork. He'd just handicapped a creature for life. Someone like him. Something that he couldn't even prove had attacked him in the first place. How did he know that this poor creation of the apocalypse hadn't just been sleeping when he tore apart its home, and body?
With a sigh, he took his pointer finger and crushed the tortured soul's head with a pop, cringing at the noise for the first time since he could recall. He'd murdered something, for no good reason at all, and he was never going to forget.