With the sweet smell of gasoline, he could feel it coming back now. A flood of lives he had lived, as though it had somehow made up for it all. Each life that felt real for a moment, but was no more real than the last. Each ended in the death of someone who had a hand in all of this, and the death of anyone that person was tied to. There was no coming back from that, and in truth, he didn't want to, didn't care to. The memories were all he had left, the final images of their lifeless bodies.
He was no longer a victim. He had stopped being one over five years ago.
It all should have been over once the escape happened, once so many died, once there was no coming back all those years ago. But they chose to do this, to regroup, to come after them. They chose this time to come together as a cohesive group and take back people they thought as beneath them, as wild animals to mistreat for their amusements and bets. The insurmountable disgust that wedged itself in his throat over the years they had each taken. And what else they had taken from them.
A count came into his head, as the gas can cried for air, the liquid inching under the warehouses dock doors, yearning to only go further and amass a growing lake across the cement and towards anything it could find. With a flick of a lighter, it was tossed over the fluid, causing a flash of fire that licked at the doors, the walls, the sky. An energy crackled, as though it were in tune with the beat of his heart. There was a rush of anticipation for this fight, but no joy or care for what was to come as Manny backed into the darkness to hide.
For as much as he wished he could stand there watching the flames, as he waited for a fight to come to him? There was more to do. Stepping back into the shadows of the darkness, he heard the steps, the cock of a weapon, and waited eagerly. A single scout in his direction, as he watched Emmeline move forward from her position, sneak up behind the man, and slice his throat. Moving towards the front doors, a few more poured out, but most were inside yelling about tactics and directions. Nothing that Manny cared for one bit.
Sticking to the shadows, he stayed cautious. Manny was out for blood, nothing more, nothing less. He had used his escape five years ago to surmount an attack, believing karma had been on his side. Mostly because it had felt as though no one else was. A knife circled in his hand at his side, expressionless, gaze trained out for targets he believed were likely to do the worst to any exposed.
Manny stayed human, even as he pierced heart and lung twisting the knife, as he came up from behind another slicing his guts open before breaking his neck, as shots cried to be called out and he held a gun into a man's busted jaw and pulled the trigger. Blood stained hands meant little to him, nor the black clothes he was wearing. Before the end of it, he would be out of them, and sauntering around, tail twitching as he chuffs and roars.
He is an animal. It didn't matter that he was crushing throats with heavy paws, slashing through flesh and bone with claws and teeth, or breaking ribs, collarbones, and spines with sheer impact.
This is the jungle he chose, this is his territory. This is the place where he will protect what he has gained. There will be no more steps back. And he will not feel anything but pride over this.