@bigdumbbigguy
Her muscles ached like they hadn’t in years, and for a fraction of a second, while her mind was still lifting through the layers between unconsciousness and cognition, she thought herself still human, still a fighter, just rousing from the heavy sleep that came after a good match. But when she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at an unfamiliar white ceiling, the scent of peppermint oil that lingered in her memories replaced by ash and blood. She remembered that she was no longer Chris, but Angel, and the first thought that struck her with that realization was of Ajax.
With whatever strength she had left, the made mutant attempted to jump out of the bed and take off, but restraints had been placed across her body and kept her from moving so much as an inch. Her jaw tightened, hands curling into fists. Angel tried to force her breathing into a steady rhythm to try and keep the growing despair inside her from spreading too quickly. As good of a fighter as he was, Ajax considered his inability to feel pain an advantage when it was in fact his biggest weakness and if she wasn’t around to keep him in check who knew what could happen to him.
Taking a strained deep breath, she struggled against the material holding her in place again, groaning painfully as her body caved instead and grew lax in exhaustion. Dark lashes flutter closed, eyes clenching shut, trying to recall what had happened. She remembered the metal man on the ground, her foot on his back, hands pulling at the noose around his neck. Then an explosion and the vague awareness of being lifted before things went dark.
