Daisy's face reddens, a vein throbbing in her forehead. "Shut up!"

"And what's with the hoodie? You trying to hide how scrawny you are? Or is it to cover up the fact that nobody loves you? Pull it tighter, it'll hide those snaggleteeth. Gross," I grin, hawking a bloody loogie and spitting it near her feet.

Pumice interjects, "Hey, kill it. If you don't shut up, I'mma make you."

I shake my head. "Unlike Daisy here, I don't need to hide behind a stupid name or a baggy hoodie. I know who I am. Hit me all you like. At least I grew up with parents that loved me. Sorry you're all taking out your daddy issues on the world. Have you considered therapy?"

Pain throbs through my hand, each beat like a drum in my skull, but I keep my focus. It's all I have left. "You guys are a real piece of work, you know that? A real… what do they call it? A motley crew?" I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Aaron leans in, his breath foul. "You think you're funny, huh? Tough? You're nothing but a brat." He sneers, but I see it, the flicker of doubt in his eyes. I'm getting to him.

I chuckle, despite the pain. "Oh, I'm hilarious. And you, Aaron? You're just a wannabe thug. How's it feel to be playing second fiddle to a bunch of kids? Big bad gangster needs a toddler for backup because he can't kill a 14 year old on his own even with a crowbar."

He scowls, turning away. "Shut up."

Pumice, the big guy made of stone, cracks his knuckles – or at least, it sounds like it. "Man, why we even listening to her? Let's just finish this."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, boo-hoo. Did I hurt your feelings? Steal your lunch money? What's next, you gonna give me a wedgie?"

Daisy, the little firecracker, glares at me. "You don't get it. You ruined everything."

"Ruined what? Your street cred? Please, you guys couldn't scare a kitten."

Aaron's patience is wearing thin. He moves closer, a dangerous glint in his eye. "You know, I've had just about enough of your mouth."

I lean back as far as the ropes allow. "Oh, I'm shaking. What are you gonna do, lecture me to death? Pry off another nail? Come on. Hit me."

Daisy stomps her foot. "Why won't you just shut up?"

"Because," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, "someone has to tell you how pathetic you all are. Hey, Daisy, let me know when you get your first period so I stop feeling bad every time I beat you up."

"Quiet!" Daisy shouts, her body clenching up.

"Alright, that's enough of her mouth," Pumice says, winding up his fists. He rolls his neck. He reels back.

This is it.

"I talked to Patches in prison, by the way. She said she always hated you," I lie.

"QUIET!" Daisy screams, bone spikes like pointed teeth bursting out from her skin, shoving into Pumice. I'm a little amazed at how much goading it took to get Daisy to shift powers, but that gives me its own valuable insights - I don't think she likes Aaron very much.

The chaos escalates rapidly in the cramped, metallic room. Daisy, her body contorting unnaturally, her skin erupting with sharp, bone-like spikes, is a blur of motion and anger. She leaps onto the chair, her spikes glinting menacingly in the dim light, aiming for me. I can't move much, but I twist as best as I can, trying to avoid the lethal points. My body, acting on its own weird instinct, tenses up at each jab, making it hard for Daisy's spikes to penetrate deeply, but each contact is a burst of pain, a searing reminder of my vulnerability.

Daisy's shriek pierces the air, her transformation into a human porcupine complete. Bone spikes jut out from her skin, sharp and menacing. She's a hurricane of rage and bone, hurling herself at me, her face twisted in a mask of fury.

I'm trapped, tied to this chair, my hands useless and throbbing. The ropes dig into my skin, but that's the least of my worries now. Daisy's on me, her spikes inches from my face. I can feel her breath, hot and frantic.

Pumice is yelling, trying to pull her back, but Daisy's lost in her fury. "Daisy, stop! You're gonna cut her loose!" he shouts, his gravelly voice filled with panic.

But Daisy's not listening. She's all spikes and screams, her eyes wild.

Aaron's barking orders, trying to regain control of the chaos. "Daisy, get off her! Pumice, grab her!"

The spikes are everywhere, slashing and stabbing. I feel fresh cuts, in places cuts shouldn't be, my blood flowing out in endless streams. My body keeps clenching up without my permission. I keep trying to twist, to shift, to get one of the ropes in the way, but all she can do is fray them, not enough for me to rip clean.

I'm gritting my teeth, pain and determination mingling in a bitter cocktail. "Is that all you've got?" I spit out, despite the pain. "Come on, Deathgirl, show me what you can do!"

Daisy's response is a guttural scream, her spikes pushing harder against my tensing muscles. Pumice's hands are on her now, trying to pull her back, but she's a wild animal. Her spines dig into my arms, into my mangled hands, into my chest. I feel a spine penetrate into my gut and hack up blood, right into Daisy's blindfolded face, laughing. It hurts so fucking bad.

"Let go of me, Pumice! I'll kill her!" Daisy screeches, her voice cracking under the strain.

Pumice's struggling, his rocky form grinding against Daisy's spikes. "Daisy, chill! You're gonna ruin everything!"

Aaron's losing his patience, his voice rising over the cacophony. "Enough! Daisy, back off!"

But it's too late for words. Daisy's in her own world, a world of anger and pain. The room is a blur of movement and noise, a symphony of chaos.

And then, Aaron does the unthinkable. In a desperate move to regain control, his gaze intensifies, and in a moment, Daisy's hair on fire, bright yellow and reeking of rotten eggs. The flames catch quickly, lighting up her hoodie, the fire reflecting in her wide, terrified eyes.

Daisy screams, a high-pitched, ear-splitting sound that cuts through the chaos. She stumbles back, her hands flailing at her burning hair.

Pumice reacts instantly, trying to smother the flames with his hands, but it's a frantic, clumsy effort. "Aaron, what the hell?!" he yells, his voice laced with shock and anger.

Chrysalis is frozen, her bug eyes wide with horror. "What did you do?!" she whispers, her voice barely audible over Daisy's screams.

Pumice grabs a bucket of water from the table - clearly intended for me, for later, and tosses it over Daisy's head unceremoniously. Her body twitches and jerks up and down, and she gapes for air, her hoodie freshly riddled with holes, her eyes glowing red and yellow behind her blindfold. "Shut 'em, Deathgirl," Pumice whispers, in the tone of someone trying to soothe a rabid dog, his hand smoothing water into her smoldering hair.

I'm left gasping, my body a canvas of cuts and bruises and puncture marks. The pain from the spikes is intense, but it's the throbbing in my hands, the pulsing of blood in my ears, that dominates my senses. I can feel the lumps in my body, third, fourth, fifth heartbeats, somewhere in my arms, everywhere I just got stabbed. I'm scared, not of the pain, but of what I'm becoming. I feel lumps inside of me.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Aaron, his face a mask of fury, turns his attention back to me. "You think you're clever, huh? You think I didn't know what you were doing?" His voice is cold, but there's a tremor in it, a hint of uncertainty.

I meet his gaze, my own eyes defiant. "You're the one who's a mess, Aaron. Can't even control your own crew." My voice is weak, but I inject as much scorn into it as I can muster.

Pumice is holding Daisy now, her body still twitching with the remnants of her rage. Chrysalis is hovering nearby, her insect-like eyes darting around, taking in the scene with a detached curiosity.

"Chrysalis, get her out of here and get her an apple juice. Pumice, you're here with me," Aaron barks.

Pumice's hold on Daisy tightens, his rocky fingers gently pressing into her smoldering hoodie. Chrysalis, with a reluctant sigh, steps forward, her insect-like limbs twitching nervously. Her voice is a soft murmur, barely audible over Daisy's shivering whimpers. "Come on, let's get you that juice." She guides Daisy away, her gaze avoiding the unfolding brutality.

"You really thought you could play us, huh?" Aaron's voice is deceptively calm, but I can see the storm brewing behind his eyes. He steps closer, and I can smell the buffalo chicken cheesesteak he had for lunch.

I try to muster a response, but my voice is a hoarse whisper. "I didn't have to play you. You're doing a great job messing up all on your own."

Aaron's fist connects with my stomach, and I can't hold back a gasp of pain. It's sharp, intense, but it's just the start. He leans in, his voice a menacing whisper. "You're going to wish you never crossed paths with me, Samantha Small."

His fists are relentless, a barrage of pain that blurs into one long, agonizing moment. Each hit feels like a hammer smashing into my flesh, my bones. My fingers, already mangled, feel like they're being crushed under a mountain. I try to focus, try to find that inner calm, but the pain is overwhelming, all-consuming.

I think about Daisy, about her spikes. Why spikes? Why does she grow them when she copies my power? It's a distraction, a way to keep my mind off the pain. Deathgirl's powers are a twisted mirror of ours, but they don't reflect what I'd expect. Not the biting, not the regeneration, not the blood sense. It's something else, something deeper. Like she knows what I don't. But she doesn't even know.

Aaron's kicks are like steel-toed boots, each one sending a jolt of agony through my body, his dress shoes stomping down on my bare feet. I can feel my ribs creaking under the assault, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps, every new blow a new form of pain. But through it all, I keep thinking. Thinking about Daisy, about her powers, about what it means.

Maybe it's not about the physical aspect of our powers. Maybe it's something more. The essence of what we are, what we can do. Daisy doesn't just copy powers; she distills them, intensifies them. She's a living, breathing weapon, a tool of destruction. All she's comprised of is pain and lethality. But why spikes?

Everything flashes in my mind's eye. The pain continues, but it stops being interesting, it stops being new. My entire body rocks back and forth, and I breathe blood with every new blow, scattering over my hole-punched t-shirt. Aaron backhands me, and teeth fly out, clattering quietly on the concrete flooring. Everything blends together. I shut my eyes.

When I punched him, why did it rip his cheek open? And didn't the same thing happen with Patches?

Why did I break Dr. Harris's needle?

Why were there teeth growing on my broken bones?

What are these lumps I'm feeling?

Why spikes?

I know why. Because they're not spikes.

They're more teeth.

The pain is a constant companion now, a relentless tide washing over me, each wave stronger than the last. Aaron's fists are unyielding, his rage palpable. I can feel my body rocking with each blow, the cold metal of the chair biting into my skin. My fingers, mangled and exposed, throb with a rhythm that syncs with my heartbeat. The room spins, a blur of gray and dull browns, and the stench of sweat and blood fills my nostrils.

I try to focus, to find that inner calm that Rampart always talks about, but it's like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. It's elusive, always just out of reach. Instead, there's only pain, an endless expanse of it, with no beginning and no end.

But amidst the chaos of my senses, a thought breaks through. Daisy's powers, the spikes, the way my body reacted to Dr. Harris's needle. It's all connected, pieces of a puzzle I didn't even know I was solving.

Aaron pauses, his breath heavy, his shirt stained with my blood. He glares down at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of satisfaction and annoyance. "Still got that smart mouth, Samantha?" he sneers. I try to reply, but it's just a gurgle, a pathetic sound that makes him laugh. "You're not so tough now, are you?" he taunts.

But his words are just background noise now. My focus is inward, on the strange sensation in my arms, the lumps that pulse with a life of their own. It's a feeling akin to pressure, a need to release, to expel something from within.

It's like taking a shit. Sorry for the vulgar thought, Mom.

Then, with a sensation that's unnervingly new yet deeply primal, teeth erupt from my wrists. They're not the clean, surgical tools I might have hoped for. Instead, they're raw, serrated, more suited for tearing than cutting.

I start sawing at the ropes, the movement awkward and painful. My wrists twist and turn, the teeth catching and snagging on the fibers. It's not a swift process; the ropes resist, tough and unyielding. Each motion is a struggle, the serrated edges gradually fraying the bindings, but not without demanding their toll in pain and effort.

Aaron watches, his initial shock turning into amusement. "What's this? A new trick? You really are a freak," he taunts, his voice dripping with scorn. He thinks I'm just shaking, maybe trying to wriggle free in desperation. He doesn't understand yet, doesn't see the method to my madness.

I keep working, ignoring his jibes, focusing on the task. My arms ache, and the bizarre sensation of teeth growing from places they shouldn't is disorienting, almost nauseating. But I can't afford to be distracted. The ropes start to give way, fibers loosening, but it's taking too long. Every second feels like an eternity, each sawing motion a desperate bid for freedom.

Aaron's laughter fills the room, a soundtrack to my struggle. "You're really something, Sam. Even now, you're entertaining," he mocks, unaware of how close he is to losing his captive. He winds his leg back and kicks me in the crotch, temporarily interrupting my escape. The pain shoots up through me like the worst electricity, making my entire body clench up hard for a second. He turns around, panting with exertion, adjusting his clothes. "But I think the fun's run out. I'm going to bash your fucking brains out now."

I clench my fists up like they're going to explode. I feel the tips of something new, something sharp, emerging from my knuckles - the ones in the back of my hand, and the ones on my fingers. I lurch forward, ripping free from the ropes. The sudden burst of motion sends a fresh wave of dizziness over me, but I can't afford to hesitate. Aaron's eyes widen in shock as I punch him squarely in the throat.

My new, pointed knuckles puncture his skin, creating neat, terrifying holes in his neck. He gasps for air, a tiny spray of blood streaking across my face, and suddenly everything in his body is known to me. He clutches at his throat and makes a noise a little bit like a balloon being deflated.

Before he can recover, I swing my other hand in a vicious right hook, just like Liberty Belle taught me. My knuckles are already rock hard from the bone conditioning, and with the added sharpness of my new teeth, I punch holes right into Aaron's cheeks, his jaw, his gums, and I rip. I carve eight-ish jagged lines into his skin and he goes skidding like a rock on a lake, screaming in pain and fury.

Pumice moves to block me, his stone form a looming barrier. I hook him too, feeling the teeth on my right hand crack against his rocky skin. Chips of pumice fly, and for the first time probably in his post-Activation life, I see pain flash across his face. He reels back, stunned by the sensation.

I turn to the door, a rotten wood barrier that's the only thing between me and freedom. My shoulder slams into it, sending splinters flying. I burst through, stumbling into the dim corridor beyond.

Every step is a battle against the pain and dizziness clouding my senses. My heart pounds in my ears, a desperate rhythm urging me onward. The building is a labyrinth, but my only thought is to put as much distance between me and them as possible. I hear Chrysalis shouting, trying to pull Daisy back into action. Behind me, I can hear the chaos I've left in my wake. Shouts and curses fill the air, a dissonant chorus of rage and confusion. But it's all background noise, fading away with each step I take.

They didn't expect me to escape. They never prepared for that eventuality.

I don't know where I'm going. I don't know if I can make it. But I know I have to try. The alternative is too grim to consider. So I run, fueled by fear and adrenaline, a wounded animal desperate to escape the hunters.

My vision blurs, the corridor stretching into infinity. Every breath is a searing pain, every step a monumental effort. I can feel the blood running down my face, my hands, a warm, sticky reminder of the violence I've just committed. I turn my head just enough to see Daisy screaming after me, already reverting to her primal, bone-spiked form without me needing to throw a single insult at her. Chrysalis leaps and jumps through the air, throwing herself around with her claws like an astronaut in a space station.

But I can't stop. Not now. Not when I'm so close.

I round a corner, nearly colliding with a wall. I push off, redirecting my momentum, barely keeping my balance. I can hear them behind me, their footsteps a relentless pursuit. But they're slower, hampered by injuries and disbelief. Pumice's footsteps rumble, and I hear the loud groaning and squealing of what is likely him busting through a wall. I smell sulfur filling the air.

The end of the corridor looms ahead, a faint light outlining a door. It's my only chance. I gather the last remnants of my strength and sprint towards it. The door is my salvation, my escape from this nightmare. Old, useless wood, with the planks already pried off by crowbar.

As I reach it, I don't slow down. I can't. I crash into the door, bursting into the night beyond. The cold air hits me like a slap, but it's the sweetest sensation I've ever felt.

Freedom.