"What do you mean you won't let me fight?" I growl into the cellphone I'd recently lifted from a second-hand store and activated, thanks to Maverick.

"Sorry, girlie. You're supposed to be dead."

I grind my teeth as I pick the lint off an old bear. My siblings are at an abandoned grocery store in the Wastelands, probably sneaking out. Me, I'm standing in the old antique shop, staring at the spot I collided with when Adrien threw me. The bricks are barely holding on. Another hit and that wall would collapse.

I turn my back on it, snatching an old drumstick and impatiently tapping it against the rusted metal shelves as I pass.

"Murphey, I'm fully healed. The fairy—"

"Mumbo jumbo. No one's gonna bet on you now that you've lost. Some were even saying you're bad luck since the police raided the place."

I groan, tossing the drumstick across the shop. "Screw that. Everyone loves an underdog."

"Not me. You can't fight, end of story. Sorry not sorry, Mikey."

Click.

I gawk into the distance, fury shaking me to my core. I don't shift, even though it would be cathartic to destroy everything in my path.

Holding fast to my common sense, I call Murphey back like twelve times. I'm ignored each time, the heat in my abdomen only growing. Finally, I decide to go to the head and see if she can do something about it.

I bust out of the antique store, slipping my mask over my mouth. I forgot my red wig at home, so I hope my beanie disguises me enough. My hair's short, so it fits underneath, but the some platinum fringe flips out at the base.

It'll have to do.

Sweat percolates beneath my hat, heat in the south not agreeing with my body. The Council of Myth kept the different states, and I can't imagine many second-worlders picking Texas to live in, considering its insane weather, but here we are.

That being said, the far south and way up north is where most humans live. Apparently most mythical creatures despise extreme climates. They don't adapt as easily as we can.

Realizing the streets are flooded with creatures, I climb on top of buildings and leap across them like Spider-Man, removing my mask. He's a superhero from like five-hundred years ago. Got bitten by a radioactive spider and suddenly got all these super powers. Really cool, and kind of inspiring for someone like me.

One day, I hope I'll be someone's hero, too.

The tips of my toes press against the front of my shoes, my calves rippling with partial transformation to help me leap further. I've always been really good at controlling different parts of my body to transform. In fact, I could change half of my body into a Bleeder and have the other half stay human-like. It looks freakishly cool.

I swing to the ground off a railing, coming to the edge of the city, and dart between some apartments. Climbing plants scale the entire thing, giant mushrooms growing along the exterior creating extra rooms for other creatures to live in. Leaves reach out to touch me with questionable intent as I pass, and then, suddenly, the road falls away, succumbing to the elements. Tiny fairies dart around, keeping the ground dead as they chitter about how terrible humans are.

This was a battle ground between second-worlders and humans.

And they never want either side to forget.

They ignore me as I jog past, completely back to normal. I plunge into the dead trees, their branches gnarled above my heads as the sun beats down on my face. I rip my beanie off and stuff it in my pocket, wiping away the sweat dripping into my eyes.

Making sure no one's following, I head toward the moving shelters. Eventually, I come across the dilapidating bomb shelters. Or at least that's what we call them. They have a few run-down buildings above ground, but there's a whole bunker below.

A bunker full of Mindless zombies.

Tanya takes care of them. Her family is supposedly down there too, but I don't trust her.

Why, Mikey, do you not trust this loving woman that everyone fawns all over? Even your adopted dad is enamored with her.

Well because she's the reason the first batch of Mindless zombies were massacred by the police. She gave up our location and saved only the zombies related to her. She didn't know I was hiding in a tree. She didn't know I saw it all.

And any time I bring it up, she disregards it and changes the subject or removes herself from the conversation. She's infuriating. Even still, every fiber of my being wants her to accept me and be proud of me.

That's something I can't explain.

I burst through the cloth doors, shouting for Tanya. Maverick hears me and, dodging the sunbeams filtering through the entryway.

"Mikey," he pleads quietly as people start to eye me. I see some roll. They know who I am and keep their distance. Good. I don't want to be in their lives anyway. Friends are a hassle. I'd rather keep everyone at arms-distance.

"Where's Tanya?" I demand, my jaw aching as my skin shivers with anger. "I need to see her. Now!"

"Mikey, ya need to calm down, biscuit."

I glare at Maverick, that fire licking my throat. But there's something wrong. My emotions are reaching past what's normal, my skin tingling. It's like I'm picking up on something else, like a hostile presence. "My idiot coach for the Hum-fights is saying I'm dead, so I can't fight."

"Well, you did lose—"

"Tanya," I roar as my fingertips itch with change. Maverick grabs my shoulder and I shake him off as Tanya steps out of a side room, disappointment in her eyes as she crosses her arms.

I know that look, but if I can just get her to reason with the guys over the Hum-fights, I'll be golden. She knows a handful of them and she works with them sometimes. She doesn't like them or that line of work, but she knows a few of the people who run it.

"They won't let me fight. I need that money for my—"

"You should have thought of that before you lost," Tanya snaps as I stop before her. She's a rather curvy Hispanic woman with the curliest hair I've ever seen. Pretty, but not pretty enough to change my mind about her.

There's a remark on my tongue, but it's lost as my eyes land on the face standing tall behind her.

Brown eyes, brown, curly hair, and an olive complexion that's lost all its gray tint. Attractive when malice is pumping through his veins. Terrifying when it's like he can see right through me.

The zombie from last night.

Tingles erupt upward through my body and my lips curl into a smile, and I realize he's the reason my emotions are out of whack. He's trying to Rage Out, but can't, and the shudders in the air were prodding at my own Bleeder instincts. I could sense him, just like I could with my shroud. His presence isn't as potent, but I knew he was here.

This is different.

I lick my teeth. "I told you you'd regret what you did."

He leaps forward, raking his nails across my face faster than I can react. He falls onto me and we tumble back into the hallway intersecting with this one. I'm able to draw his blood too, trading blows.

Suddenly I'm back at the antique store, Adrien standing before me, my blood on his knuckles. The trembling fear that welled inside me prompted a string of giggles from me. I'd never seen that boy disturbed until that night.

I became his worst nightmare when I ripped his tongue out through his teeth.

We take a step back and a maniacal laugh bubbles up from inside me. Blood makes the ground slick as that familiar itchy sensation covers the areas that sustained damage. I'm healing quickly, and I can see he is too, but at a slower rate. The air around him shudders, but no change occurs.

I note Rick and Raquel spilling out of the room Tanya and the zombie had been in, and it clicks.

Ah.

"What a twist of fate! Rick must have sedated the cataclysmic change within you to fully Rage." I lick my teeth. "It's my lucky day."

My body shudders.

I've seen myself transform a million times.

Claws sprout from my fingers, the flanges extending. My mouth pulls back to reveal a skeleton smile, muscles framing it and creating a disturbingly grotesque image. My pupils grow as my spine elongates and my heels lift off the ground. I can feel my shoes stretching as I let the Bleeder cry out.

I focus on my prey, standing a foot taller than normal, getting high on the glimmer of terror that briefly parts his ferocity.

"This... will be fun."