(AAA…) ANGER

Sadly, even apathy had its limits.

For a while, Taylor had drifted through each loop with the cold resignation of someone who had already died too many times to count. But detachment was fragile, and soon enough, something hotter began to seep through the numbness. Anger.

It wasn't the blind, desperate anger of someone flailing against the inevitable, the kind that lashed out at everything, but something quieter and directed. Anger, but with focus. 

Because the truth was, she’d been learning. 

Taylor remembered every knife slash that carved her body, every chokehold that squeezed air from her lungs, and every time Sophia phased into shadow and back again. Each loop had become less a punishment and more a brutal study session. Fear had burned away into something like strategy, her instincts heightened by repetition until she could almost see Sophia’s movements before they began.

Sophia was stronger, yes, faster, crueler, and armed with powers Taylor could never hope to match. But she wasn’t flawless. No, she was predictable. Patterns emerged when you saw the same play acted out a hundred times over, and Taylor had been patient enough to memorize them all. 

So when her eyes snapped open once more to the all-too-familiar sight of Sophia looming over her, mask glinting in the light, Taylor didn’t freeze or waste her breath on begging. She acted.

Her arm lashed out, a wild swing aimed for Sophia’s face.

The Ward jerked back just in time, faster than Taylor could follow, the retaliatory swipe of her knife flashing close enough to slice air across Taylor’s cheek. But Sophia stumbled in her retreat, barely a half-step back, and that was all Taylor needed. She ripped the hospital blanket free and flung it in Sophia’s direction.

Predictably, Sophia shifted into her shadow state. The fabric slipped harmlessly through her, pooling on the floor. But Taylor was already moving, her body falling hard to the side to avoid the follow-up slash she knew was coming. Pain lanced through her ribs as she hit the floor, but the knife that should have opened her back hissed through empty space instead.

One loop had taught her the timing of that slash. Another had taught her what came next.

Ignoring the window, she rolled—graceless but quick—under the bed just as Sophia reappeared, her arm carving through the air where Taylor’s head had been. Dust clung to the sweat on Taylor’s hands as she shoved herself upright, seizing the fallen cover again. Her arms ached, her legs trembled, but she threw it once more with every ounce of strength she had.

With a snarl, Sophia phased through it. 

Just as Taylor expected.

And this time, she was ready.

The instant Sophia solidified, Taylor’s hand shot up, fingers darting for her eyes. But the motion was bait, nothing more but a distraction to make Sophia flinch, to buy the fraction of a second Taylor needed. 

Her real strike followed an instant later, her fist arcing low, avoiding the mask entirely. She had learned the hard way that the hardened surface only bruised her knuckles and made Sophia laugh. No, through trial and error, the loops had taught her better. The neck was without protection, and as a result was more vulnerable than intended. 

Knuckles met muscle and tendon with a dull smack, a perfect blow honed through endless failure. The force jolted up her arm, but it was worth it to see Sophia’s head snap violently to the side, her breath catching in a strangled grunt as her footing vanished beneath her. 

Sophia toppled off the bed on the other side, body almost pinwheeling before slamming into the tile with a harsh, graceless thud. The knife slipped from her hand, clattering across the floor until it spun to a halt, close enough she didn't have to stress to pick it up.

Taylor didn’t go for it though. She knew better. Every loop that had brought her this far had taught her the same cruel lesson: the knife was useless in her hands, but inevitable in Sophia’s.

So she ran.

Her bare feet slapped against cold tile, her hospital gown flaring around her legs as she bolted for the door. Her heart thundered in her chest, but its fast rhythm wasn’t due to panic but concentration. She had seconds, maybe less, before Sophia phased through the wall, and she needed to make every one of it count.

The hallway stretched before her, impossibly long and empty, but at the end of it was the elevator.

Taylor’s hand slammed against the down button, jabbing it again and again until her finger ached, as if sheer desperation would make the doors open faster. A metallic chime answered, and finally, the doors groaned apart.

She didn’t wait for them to fully open. The gap was wide enough, and she shoved herself inside, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. And like before, her hand smacked the button for the first floor again and again.

The doors thankfully slid closed, though it was far too slow for her pounding heart. 

And in that narrowing wedge of sight, before steel cut her off, Taylor saw Sophia sprinting fast towards her. Then, the doors shut. The elevator lurched, a low drone filling the cramped space as it began its descent.

Taylor sagged against the wall, lungs heaving, every breath a ragged gasp that burned her throat. But relief spread through her in shaky waves, and she let out a sigh she hadn’t realized she was holding.

But it wasn’t a victory yet.

She knew better than to mistake this for it. She might have escaped death for now. But survival?

That prricular fight had only just begun.