AN: I am happy that people seem to like this small project! At first I had planned for 1-2 weeks between chapters (that will still happen probably), but this time I got impatient and pushed on! So this is a bit earlier than expected. And it is longer than planned too. But I don't think you guys will be complaining...

So here it is chapter 2 about a Taylor, who has no Anger Issues at all! Have fun!


Chapter 2

After the darkness I screamed as loud as I could, now finally full of energy again.

I was cursing like my Dad did when he thought I couldn't hear him and he lost his temper.

I was also.

Killing.

Every.

Single.

OF THESE FUCKING BUGS I COULD GET MY HANDS ON WHILE I WAS ON IT.


After I had calmed down a bit, hands now drenched in even more disgusting fluids, I pondered my situation.

I had no idea what path I had walked exactly. I was unlikely to get to the exit again, unless by sheer luck of course.

What should I do?

I could try to map out the facility, but that last run went so perfectly and I still was not able to rest without the red fucker getting to me. I would need to have the same luck again in the first place, and then what?

Just to use that valuable time to count corridors before I get killed?

That would not only become tiresome quite quickly, I truly doubted my ability to correctly remember the path I had to take.

Because everything looked similar.

For some FUCKING reason.

I took a deep breath.

I had a temper, just like my Dad did, but it was very hard to actually make me angry. Mom always said that I needed to control my temper, or it would control me.

Well she said that to Dad actually, but I listened to her anyways.

Its not like I could ask her personally, with her being buried.

And me stuck in this fucking place.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.


Alright, I have seen what is behind the door. Trying to go further in that direction could bear fruit, but that was my end goal anyway, getting out of here.

Now I just had to make sure, to be as efficient as possible.

And that also meant using everything I had right here, in this room.

I had the most time here, and there were no threats until the Demon thing comes crashing in.

I still only had the shitty stuff of course, for now.

But injuries didn't carry over.

Muscles and improvements to my body, like reflexes did.

So there was no risk in trying some things.

I hesitatingly grabbed the biggest of the screwdrivers. It seemed solid.

So seemed the metal of every fucking type of container in the room though.

I picked a shelf with multiple drawers as my first target. It looked like something you would find in your typical office, no unusual markings or anything. Every drawer had the same size, all of them with a keyhole at the exact same spot.

All of them locked too of course.


Could I even do this? I felt silly and stupid. But I started trying to hack the top drawer open. I tried different angles and spots, first only with the strength of my pathetic arms. Then I tried holding the screwdriver and hitting the end with the hammer with as much strength as I could, like it was a chisel.

The most I did was scratching the metal a bit, which wasn't very helpful. I refused to give up, and kept it up, until I missed my target, hit my hand instead and started crying from the pain.

My hand felt very tender, maybe it was broken?

I had a hard time using it afterwards too.

This time I didn't really mind when my uninvited guest came in to relieve me of my guts.


On the next reset, I tried the other things in the room, first with the chisel strategy. Then I tried to somehow pick one of the locks, but I had no idea what I was doing. I bend some of the screwdrivers but didn't open the stupid locks.

I hated the fiddling, I felt like a moron just stabbing around in the dark, ruining the 'tools' I had, wasting my time until the demon fucker came and killed me again. But there had to be something I could use.

I tried the Power Armor again too, but I was still not moving it at all. Maybe it actually wasn't armor, but a solid showcase or something? It felt like I was trying to bend a thick steel bar with only my own arms.

The knife was too big to fit into any of the keyholes. I tried it, and bend the tip a little, but that was it. I could have screamed in rage and frustration. Maybe I did. I don't really remember.

But my patience was wearing really, really thin.

And then, as that STUPID SHITTY MINOTAUR killed me again.

I had one thing in my mind.

Fuck running away.

I had never tried fighting it, not even once.

What would have been the point? I had no weapons, training or armor. It was build like a natural tank. It was stronger than me, probably hard to hurt.

It wasn't as agile as me, but in general it was faster than I was.

The only thing resembling a weapon I had was a dull knife. And maybe the biggest screwdriver. It was barely big enough for me to hit it with the hammer, but still, it had a pointy end.

I wouldn't defeat the monster of course.

Not even in hundreds of tries.

Some say, even a giant can be killed by a dwarf.

But not when the dwarf had no weapons and was alone, while the giant was a killing machine who seemed to have no real weaknesses one could exploit.

But that was alright.

I did not have to defeat it. I didn't even have to win or somehow get a draw.

No, I was fine with losing.

I just wanted to hurt it.

Just once make it work for the kill.

And if it didn't work the first time? Or the second, third?

That was fine too.

I had time after all.

Would I ever defeat it? I would not, not even with a hundred, no not with a thousand tries.

But trading my life for injuring it?

That I could do.


I'm pretty sure I confused it.

Once again it smashed down the door, the hulking mountain of muscles turning to me and roaring. And then I screamed back, and charged at it with a shitty knife.

It actually shut up when I shouted, and just looked like a farmer who had seen one of his pigs fly away or something.

I'm pretty sure that surprise was the only reason I was even able to close the gap and get a swing in before it parted me into two parts. My knife bounced of his stomach, the only place I could kind of reach comfortably because of the height difference.

I don't think I even scratched it…

Maybe these things use knifes as massage tools?


After a few more similar tries, I had to admit to myself that this was not working. Every place I could reach had natural armor, and I simply didn't have the strength or equipment to pierce the skin.

The only thing I could think of being able to punch through were its eyes. The eyes that I couldn't even reach when I stood on my toes or jumped. The thing was just too big.

I had to use a different strategy.

It looked at me, it roared, it shut its stupid mouth as I screamed back and watched dumbly as I ran right at it. I dodged a half hearted swipe, and at first it seemed like I was once again heading for the door. But I had another plan. Right when I was behind it, I turned as sharply as I could, my footing just barely holding on the rubble left over from the door.

And then I jumped on its back.

It gave something between a mix of a surprised squawk and a disbelieving shout, as I tried to scramble up its back.

I had to dodge its meaty arms trying to rip me off.

That was what had ended my second try at this. This creature was build to charge in the foes, take only superficial damage while doing so, and then to rend everything in close distance apart with its strong claws, arms and horns.

It was a bit like some of those bodybuilders in the regard that it had a hard time reaching at its own back.

But having a hard time did not mean that the Minotaur was unable to.

I had painfully found that out first hand.

It just had very limited movement. I also had to position myself in a way that the opening in the corridor was behind us.

The first time I got on its back without losing my grip, it had more or less squished me between the walls and its back on accident.

That was not a death I was eager to repeat.

The Minotaur had been so busy scratching and peeling my body parts of itself, that I had to die slower than I was used to, which meant the pain was also there for a lot longer than I would have preferred.

A harsh lesson, but that was not a mistake I had repeated since then.

As I started reaching its neck, it started wildly swinging around, trying to lodge me off or knock me into the walls.

That was both good and bad.

Good, because I was pretty sure it could reach me pretty well now, if it just tried again, and there was not much I could do against that.

As long as it was busy flailing, it would not try to grab me again.

And bad, because, well… A squashed Taylor is not a happy Taylor?

But I was so, so close to my goal.

With shaking limbs I clinged to its neck, trying desperately to get enough grip with my feet that I could use my arms more freely. For a moment It looked like I would fail once again. I was slowly sliding off, but then my right leg was able to push off Its muscles and gave me a push upwards.

Holding on for dear life at one of the horns, I took the knife out of my mouth and started wildly stabbing in its face, my own a grimace of angry determination. I glanced off again and again, my strength quickly leaving me – I was also getting a bit motion sick – but then the Beast below me gave a pained shout.

I had hit its left eye.

With a gleeful cackle I stabbed the same spot again and again, as accurately as I could, and it felt so good to finally get some fucking payback, scream for me you red fucker! Until the beast threw itself on its back with all its might to stop me.

My body, especially my head, popped like a grape.


And then I stumbled out of the locker with a wild, demented grin on my face.

I had done it.

It hadn't killed me for fun, or for food or why the fuck it was killing me in the first place, it killed me in self defense, because It had to.

Because I was hurting it, because I too had teeth and claws.

I think I was now in the best mood ever since I had started appearing in this place. There was a visceral satisfaction in making my attacker bleed before he got me. A deep, brutish sense of accomplishment.

Was that how Sophia felt all the time?

If so, then I could actually kind of understand her behavior, why she was such a violent Bully. But I doubted it. A big part of what made me feel so good was the sense of accomplishment, of giving an overpowering foe finally some just punishment. Sophia didn't go after other Bully's, or people that had personally wronged her, she went after easy targets (especially me) and didn't even do so alone.

She was just the most physical of my Tormentors. I'm sure she got a sense of satisfaction from doing that shit too, but that was still something else than the thing I felt at that very moment. I felt a sense of accomplishment, of a difficult milestone reached, not the petty pleasure of beating up someone weaker.

But no matter how good I was feeling, this was still no solution to my current predicament. That realization didn't do anything to dampen my mood, the emotional high would take a while to leave me.

Maybe I could pierce Its eyes and try to flee afterwards?

I was pretty sure the Minotaur was tracking me over scent or something, because there should have been no way for it to find me in the maze of corridors fast enough that It could stomp me before I woke up again. But still, being blind and in pain would at least slow it down a little, right?

And should that not be the case – well at least I would be enjoying myself.

As I grabbed my trusty, dull, but not useless knife again, I couldn't help myself but chuckle.

I was already looking forward for some more stress relief I would not have to feel bad about in the slightest. No moral grey area or deep thoughts.

Maybe this time I get Its right eye.

Or maybe both eyes.


The demon started reacting faster to me for some reason. It seemed more competent. Me screaming and charging at it didn't seem to really surprise it anymore, but it still was not good at getting me off its back. So it wasn't adapting to me, because then the Minotaur would realize that it could reach me once I was positioned around its neck-area.

Something else had to have changed.

On closer consideration I concluded that it had to be me that changed in some fundamental way.

I was pretty sure the Monster didn't care if I was a fit, athletic 15 year old girl, or a girl with a frog belly and the power of a wet towel. It still held the advantage by a giant margin and the danger for it was minimal.

So that was not the reason it changed its behavior.

It took me actually longer than I want to admit, until I got an idea. It was the bloodthirst I had, the way I was starting to look forward to the demon coming, the laughs that started coming out of me every time I started stabbing down.

It was the building confidence that I was not powerless against the beast. I wasn't the mouse charging at the lion in desperation, no. I knew how to hurt it, and it realized that I was not simply a sacrifice to slaughter.

And of course it started reacting accordingly, expecting me to attack it, because my body language had to scream my desire to do so.

It was a strange experience: The better I got, the more success I had with my "stress relief", the rarer I was actually able to have said success. The Demon now always attacked right after spotting me, many of the times it didn't roar at all and if it did, it only did so while already charging at me.

My confidence to be able to hurt it, made it weary enough that it did not give me any big openings I could use. Instead it focused on simply killing me fast and brutally.


There came a point where my success was so rare that it was not worth it to spend more time on trying to reach it. I had proven to myself that I was not powerless. I was not truly satisfied with the results, but I was contend for now. Despair and panic had no hold on me for the moment.

And there was a pleasant side effect of the changed behavior of my enemy too: Because it considered me more of a threat and was alert, I had a way harder time to get on its back, true, but getting out of the door became easier too.

The idea that I would run from the fight did not occur to it anymore.

Neither did it for me for quite some time, and I was not happy about it. It felt more cowardly now somehow, because fighting for my life, fighting for dominance, was actually something a primal part of me desired now.
Telling myself that an attack was suicide and I had nothing I could do against the Demon did not work anymore, because I had done otherwise.

I had proven to myself that there were ways for me to hurt it.

It was another kind of difficulty to turn my back on my opponent and flee, but being stuck here was not worth it. The endless battle was endless only because I had nothing to kill the monster with. Hurt yes, but winning and killing it? That was still just (nearly) as unlikely as to the beginning of the loops I spend fighting. But it could not actually (permanently) kill me either. So we were stuck. And no matter how much it pleased me to extract my pound of flesh, doing so was still mostly pointless.


So with a scowl, feeling like I was running away from my problems again – even though thinking logically defended my actions – I once again took the best opportunities to flee into the corridors of the complex.

It took longer to chase me too, perhaps unsure if I was trying to trap it, so I was able to get a reasonable head start most times.

Now came the problem that had stopped me from trying this avenue earlier: Orientation in this shitty office maze would be a different type of pain. And so would be getting to the exit once – not even talking about repeating that feat at will.

Not even the thought of being chased down and having to face off against the Minotaur was spurring me on to give this exploration my best shot.

More the opposite actually, the rush of adrenaline when attacking it, the feeling of power, the sense of a struggle of life and death?

I already preferred that instead of walking around until my legs gave out, until I felt like I was starving, my body shivering, desperately trying to remember the route I was taking, had taken already and so on.

But I had no real other choice, so I once again gritted my teeth and pushed on.


Maybe it was the fact that I was not panicking anymore, that my walk through the corridors was quick, but not hasty. Maybe I wasted less energy and time, maybe I could see and track more, without the constant terror of I-will-be-ripped-apart-soon in my mind at all times.

But it took only a low number of tries to get back to the exit, not more than a dozen. That was probably something like a personal record.

I kept spicing things up, with only just deciding if I would fight or flee right when I charged at the Demon. That gave my routine more excitement and also kept my mood up a little. I think.

No matter the reason for my quick success, I was surprised that it had been so easy to return to this place where I had collapsed before.

I quickly closed in on the door, but kept an eye out for anything that could become problematic for me.

It is not paranoia if they are really out to get you after all.

There was nothing unusual, no turrets, cameras or anything else. I could hear the Demon faintly in the distance, so I had maybe ten minutes at the very least before I would be allowed have to fight once again for my life.


The door was actually not something I had expected. Instead of a heavy fortified door leading outside, or a simple plain one (like the rooms I had passed by had) this looked more like something a submarine had.

Or a space station.

Or at least how I imagined the doors those things would have.

Now that I got closer, I could make out more detail.

There were two doors, with enough space to comfortably stand between them. The doors itself were made of unornamented metal, with a strip of glass in the middle, so you could watch through both of them into the outside world.

Speaking about my freedom in said the outside world, where was this place?

There was red rock and dust swirling around and not too far away was another complex with a seemingly similar door setup.

So if I was just walking around in one part of the facility, how many more would there be? Maybe I could find someone actually human there too?

My mind wandered back to one of the first ideas I had, that this was a test of some sorts by some crazy Tinker fucker.

That absurd notion seemed a bit more realistic now, perhaps I should have given that stupid idea a bit more credit.

No matter what (or where) this location actually was, I would need to get out first.


With a constant mantra of "Please don't be locked, please don't be locked, please don't be locked" running in my head, I tried to open the door and nearly fell over.

Not because it was locked, too heavy or maybe stuck.

No the opposite was true.

I stemmed my whole weight against it, pushing with all my might, and it opened with a simple hiss.

So easily in fact, that I was not prepared and fell into the doorway, nearly hitting the other door with my head in the process. Standing up again, congratulating myself that things seemed to be going my way finally, I tried to open the other door.

And of course it did not budge at all.

Frowning I tried again – both directions – and looked for a lock or something else similar. I found nothing. I searched the doorway, looked at the walls and the ceiling.

I was in luck – over the door was something written. I could not really read it, even though the text seemed to be in English, but I could make out a simple drawing next to the message.

So there was no need to try myself at decoding weird language.

"Ohhhhh. That's how you are supposed to do it."

Feeling stupid, I pulled the first door shut behind me, until it locked with a click, and then tried the second door again.

There was the sound of something shifting, and a pump or something similar started working.

As my breath was literally taken away, and I started sinking down, desperate to get back inside where I could breathe the second door opened into the outside.

I had done it, I was out.

I also could not breathe.

So finally free, my mind racing in desperation to find a way to save me, limbs too weak to get me to said safety, I could do nothing but suffocate.


As I stumbled out of the locker, the first thing I did was taking multiple deep breaths.

That had been very unpleasant.

And how stupid was this shit? I was somewhere without air – which made no sense, because as far as I knew, Parahumans powers did not work away from earth – and I had been totally taken by surprise so I could not even salvage that particular run in any way.

Also, suffocation.

Give me sharp claws any time of the day, at least that was quick and you could fight it, not this slowly wasting away bullshit.

And there was no air outside.

There was NO AIR OUTSIDE.

It took me AGES to get to this point, I had to endure so much just to get to that point.

AND THERE WAS NO FUCKING AIR OUTSIDE.

I gave something between a scream and a sob.

What stupid shit was this? How unfair?! What was I supposed to do? I couldn't train my lungs to be able to breathe without air?!

Maybe there were some space suits or something? Gas-masks? But even as I tried to motivate myself with those ideas, I knew deep inside that there was nothing to find.

Unless they put the things necessary to get out of this building on the opposite side of the exit of the building, there was nothing I could gather. Probably not even if I looked through every room I could get into.

Because I already did that. I had been careful and precise goddammit! I had looked and searched, for a map, or some food or water, equipment anything without success.

There was only one suit left in the building.

And I could not.

FUCKING.

USE IT.

BECAUSE IT WAS HEAVY AS SHIT.

FUCK!

When the Demon interrupted my medium temper tantrum, that did not calm me down at all.

I hurt you multiple times already you stupid fuck.

LET.

ME.

BE.


As I stumbled once again out of the locker, I was completely fed up with this shit.

I was fed up with getting kidnapped.

I was fed up with being killed.

I was fed up with only finding more and more obstacles.

I.

WAS.

FED.

UP.

I started punching and kicking stuff, trying to smash anything in the room starting with that stupid suit.

The only thing that happened was that I hurt myself, bones giving painful twinges, now my own blood covering my hands.

Especially as I repeatedly kicked solid metal in sheer, pissed of indignation.

The pain, together with my futile efforts to damage, to smash anything in this stupid shitty prison of a room, did not calm me down either.

Actually it just pissed me off more.

Wounds did not matter either.

And I couldn't even destroy something to make me feel better.

I saw red, and just kept flailing, kicking, punching.

I did not care about the damage I was doing to myself.

The pain just pissed me off more, the futility of it all.

I kept at it, screaming, shouting, ranting, sounding like an unstable maniac.

I did not notice when I managed to bend the metal of containers.

I did not notice when I broke them all open, one by one.

I did not notice solid metal giving in first, instead of my body.

I did not notice when the wall got smashed and the Demon walked in.

Neither did I realize that the cool metal under my fists had been swapped with warm flesh.

I did not hear the roar of challenge turning to pained shrieks.

I did not stop as they became quieter, until they completely cut off.

I was lost in a red haze of anger.


As I came back to myself, the first thing I noticed was the stench invading my nostrils.

The second thing was the state of the room.

Everything was destroyed, smashed through or open. The space around the door was especially red and disgusting, guts hanging from the walls, blood smeared everywhere.

In my hands I held a gigantic head, by its two black horns.

I myself was drenched in blood. My long hair, the only feminine thing I was proud of, felt like I had just taken a shower. And in a way I had – but it was a bloody shower, the life fluid of the Minotaur, and not water.

I had done this.

I knew that.

Instinctively.

But how?

This scene made no sense, I was simply not strong enough for any of this!

Trying to pick up the head alone proved too difficult for me, it was simply to heavy – and I had ripped and teared it off my enemy's neck?!

What was going on here?


Giving moving the head up as a pointless exercise, I slowly shuffled through the room.

Now that everything was more or less broken, I at least could search through the rubble for something to salvage.

I tried to mentally distance myself from the weirdness, the unknown something that had allowed me to do this kind of damage.

I was not very successful in salvaging stuff.

Most things were broken and unrecognizable. Most seemed to be some sort of testing equipment anyways, not stuff I could actually use or even understood how to use in the first place.

Some of it were notes, files and folders. Tons of the stuff actually. Some of them seemed to be written in English too, which was a surprise, but they were ripped, drenched in blood or otherwise more or less ruined.

Others were drenched in other stuff I did not dare identify, or had already started to dissolve. I still checked them all – the less disgusting ones in more detail, admittedly – until I actually found something I could actually read.

Anything to stop my mind from wandering to the head on my floor.

This document was something resembling a report, listening Experiments by their numbers and what effect they had on the "Artifact".

Now, what could that Artifact be?

Impossible to know, right?

I looked up from my seat on the bloody head and gazed at the Suit still innocently standing against the wall.

It was the only thing in the room that was not only not damaged, it was also clean of blood, guts and other flesh.

No, not just clean of the stuff, it looked pristine.


I carefully read everything I could. There was no monster to hunt me, and nowhere I could or wanted to go to right now anyways.

One thing I realized quickly: Whoever owned this facility had not created the suit.

Indeed, they did not know what material it was made out of in the first place.

But there seemed to be some knowledge prior to getting the Suit that the Scientists (?) had to have had. Multiple times reports of experiments explicitly not violating the "set special guidelines". Those seemed to just apply to the Suit and I even found some of them written down.

After translating the weird wording and the technical terms stuffed into every single sentence I had a short list.

So those Guidelines were the following:

1) Experiments with the goal of damaging the Suit were forbidden.

2) Moving the Suit further than 1000 meters from "the prepared vault" was forbidden without special permission.

3) If something damages the Suit, a special notice had to be immediately given and the exact process used had to be written down, in as much detail as possible.

4) Trying to separate different parts of the Suit from each other by use of violence, brute force or power tools was also forbidden.

Violating these rules would be met with steep punishment and the responsibly party would be fired immediately. I also learned that the Artifacts actual name was "Praetor Suit".

Not damaging it seemed to have been a very high priority, but I somehow doubted that it was easy to do so by accident anyways. Not only survived it whatever happened with the Minotaur (how did I do that?) without a scratch, no seemingly without even being touched by the carnage in any way.

And the phrase "seemingly indestructible" paired with "possible regeneration" was used more or less regularly in the conclusion of the reports. Also that the Suit had no detectable power source, was heavy enough that it had to be moved with special machinery and that because of that no grown man would be able to move while wearing it.

Also, that it was designed for a grown man to wear.

A bit counterproductive maybe?

I could believe the data about the weight and impracticality readily. But if that was true, I was stuck.

I did not know if the Suit would be enough to survive the environment outside. But it was the only option I had left.

If I could not move while in it – if I was even able to somehow get it on myself in the first place – then it would be useless for me anyways.

So I once again tried to move a joint, an arm or something, maybe the helmet?


It still felt like trying to move a solid block of stone or metal or something. I had expected that, but I was still disappointed in some way.

If I had ripped apart a gigantic demon Monster thing, with my bare hands no less, then why would the suit not move?

I think a part of me had hoped that I had suddenly gained super strength or something. Became a Brute, a class of Parahumans that was hard to hurt and often boasted enhanced strength.

A false hope.

I gave a bitter chuckle.

The Demon I killed would have been able to walk with the Suit, I was sure (not that he would fit into it) and I had slaughtered it.

But I could not use the Suit myself either.

Useless.

With an angry shout I kicked the head out of the door and watched it bounce against a wall.

What did I have to do, to get fucking OUT OF HERE.

Quietly cursing I pulled one of the not too ruined lab coats out of a thin, broken closet.

It did not fit me of course, but at least I could scrub a little bit of the filth off me.

A tiny amount really, I was soaked still, but my hair did not feel as disgusting anymore.

Not much of an improvement, because it still was disgusting, but now the steady dripping noise of blood on the floor was finally gone at least.


Dejected I walked out of the door. Maybe I had just missed something that would allow me to breath outside, some sort of life support.

That was the only hope I had left.

I passed the head, deep in thought.

And froze.

I turned around.

I had kicked the head out of the room, right? The same head I could not lift, with all my strength, and had used as a filthy seat while reading, yes?

I had kicked it hard enough that it bounced against the wall outside the room. How? That made no sense at all!

Hesitating, I grabbed the head by the horns again, and tried to lift it. But even straining with all my might, I could barely make it shift a little.

Maybe I had super legs or something?

I kicked it softly, but it just felt like I tried to push a wall. I had kicked it a lot harder, so I mentally shrugged my shoulders and kicked as strong as I could.

Tears shot in my eyes and I felt for my toes with a whimper. It felt like I had broken some maybe, which would be very bad, because I had nothing to kill me until I made it outside.

Hobbling through corridors to be allowed to finally suffocate was not my idea of a good time...

So hard kicking wasn't the solution either.

Still hissing in pain, I sat down on the head again, and tried to remember what I did exactly. I was missing something, I was sure of it.

I could have maybe talked myself out of the idea that I killed the Demon – even though in my heart I knew I did it, I felt so satisfied about it, that any other possible reason seemed less real somehow – but I clearly remembered kicking the head and it rolling away.

Which was no hallucination, because now I was sitting on it outside of the room.

What did I do, what made me strong enough for such a feat in one moment, and weak in the next?

Maybe it was something in the room I had overlooked? I walked back inside, well more like I limped, because my foot still felt tender. That meant it was not broken tough, right? I had no real experience with injuries, a strange thing to realize after dying countless time in gruesome ways. But I never had the time to check myself for broken bones or anything afterwards – I had never won the fight before.

I carefully looked through the mess again. But there was still nothing that caught my eye.

Not that it was easy, climbing over the field of debris was a lot more annoying with my foot giving a painful twinge with every movement.

Because I had to be thorough of course, if I missed the one thing that could help me because of impatience I would be pretty pissed once I realized it.

If I ever realized it.


But missing it because there was so much shit in the way was not much better. With an annoyed grunt I knocked some of the obstructing shelves away so I could look better – maybe it was a device hidden or stuck under some of them?

Unlikely, but possible – but I still had no success.

Frustrated I left the room once again, standing in the dirty mess did nothing to help me think. I sat down on the shelf, one hand at my forehead.

What was I missing?

Wait.

I was sitting on the shelf.

The shelf that was in the room before I "knocked it out of the way".

That was now not in the way anymore.

Because I had thrown it out of the room by accident.

HOW?!

WHAT WAS THIS SHIT?!

Frustrated I punched the wall. Then I looked at the dent my fist had made with wide eyes.

Slowly I touched the cool stone. It had cracked a bit where I hit it, spiderwebs moving away from the impact in all directions.

So there was nothing in the room that enabled me to do this, no, this was something else. What had all my actions in common?

I did them absently, but I did not think that was the solution. No, a common factor was my mood when it had happened. The would explain the Demon too. Every time I did something unusual, I was either doing it out of frustration or anger.

I had heard of people becoming stronger in extreme emotional situations, but I did not think that what I had been doing was normal in any way.

So maybe I was a Parahuman or something after all?

Since when?

And I got stronger with anger?

I mean, it was not the strangest thing I had ever heard of. Hookwolf, a Nazi Villain in my City became a monster made of metal, saws, blades and other stuff when he wanted to. More strength (and toughness too probably, otherwise I should have definitely broken something) because of anger, or maybe strong emotion in general, was not that special really.

But this was big, this was huge.

I could maybe wear the Suit!

If that did not work, I would have to try being so angry at the outside world that I don't need to breathe or something, but that seemed a bit too far fetched.

Trying to test this theory, I grabbed the head by the horns and tried to move it. With straining muscles, I was still unable to – just like expected.

Then I started trying to get purposefully angry. It was a lot faster and easier than I thought.

I knew I had a temper, which I kept tightly on a leash usually, but there had to be a reason for me getting pissed off. Just getting angry at the drop of a hat or doing it intentionally was not a skill I had.

Or at least, that had been the case before all of shit shit happened.

Because the anger came fast and breathtaking, blood rushing through my veins and the basic desire to hurt something gnawing at me.

With a snarl I grabbed each horn again and with a mighty heave I ripped the head into two, right through the middle. The cracking sound, the squishing of unnamed remains splattering on the ground, I truly enjoyed it.

Reveled in it.

I just broke an enormous skull to pieces with my own, bare hands.

Me, skinny, poor, bullied Taylor Hebert could rip and tear a Monster seemingly made to be an army killer, a living tank, just by the sheer power of my anger.

I'm pretty sure such an edgy sentence would have amused me before all of this, if a character said it in a book or a movie.

But I held the bloody remains as proof in my hands it, so I did not care about how I sounded. Speaking about those, I dropped them on the ground with a heavy thud and walked back into the room.

This stupid Suit would not defeat me.

I would have accepted the Demon defeating me, maybe, but not a Suit.

No matter what material it was build out of, or what the Scientists had as Guidelines.

It was a tool to be used.

I would wear it and I would walk out of here!

I would get my freedom!