Life had become predominantly stagnant. Not that this was a bad thing, not at all, but he felt the shift. The change in everything and it was only depressing in its own right. A normality to it and what was to be expected. The way that his life had only become a loss of doors. There was no open and close, but a hall that led one direction or another, versus a blocked off series of them. Ones that could not be valued or treated with any sort of hope or respect. The way that he was, people only looked down on it rather than actually think there was more to it. No matter what he did to explain, there was nothing here. Regardless of his own poise and rationality to it. He needed a fix. An out. Everything was only a series of new directions, thoughts, theories, and lab tests.

Life shouldn't be this way. Nothing was meant to be. This was how it was though. There was no out. He couldn't even maintain the attempts to move inside the box. To be normal like everyone else he watched holding these real lives. He was nothing in comparison. Nothing could be kept, only swept or washed away. He wished he understood it, and try as he might, all he had were these working theories. And not one looked at all of this in a positive way. Not that it needed to be, not that there should be. This was his life and he had lost control without ever really knowing when that happened. If he ever actually held the control. For all he knew he was another random incidence. Or it could all be quite elaborate and this was meant to happen. He didn't care for that idea. There was no such thing as fate. Why would that be real? How? It was unexplainable by science. How could anything be real if it couldn't be explained this way? It was the only tangible grasp he held to anything. Sometimes he wished he had his ADHD back.

This felt maddening. The whole story going on in his head. The way everything attributed to everything. He couldn't accept it, take it, no, he wanted to fight. He wasn't even a fighter. The only means of actually fighting he held included strength, it was the only way he gained any sort of stance in any of this. The weight he could contain. He felt crazy. Each day, he dealt with his own blood lust, but this, it was something else. It was September. He could recall what he was doing this time last year. How things had shifted, the changes that were created. How everything was simpler, but changing so quickly. His life taking off in other directions, other ways. When it all first started. The way he had lost himself, lost so much in the next two months. The life he had pushed through with the use of guilt over things that were not his fault. He only recalled the pieces, read the source of the notes. It was too much.

Michael, for all intents and purposes felt like the monster he always felt himself looked to be. He had stopped being so closed over it all. If he was going to die, let someone come at him for it. Allow someone to try, he had lost that fear. If anything, he longed for it. End this, end it all. It was going to be on his own terms that way. If he could take a double barreled shotgun to the chest, if he could jump off of a building and live through it, he didn't care anymore. It made him less careful. Further more, it made him more of an adrenaline junkie. it wasn't for the adrenaline, that was not there. But the pain. It meant he was alive. For the good and the bad. For the right and the wrong that included. With the driving and maddening need to get away from people who didn't care about him anyway, here he was, having tried to pull himself together. But it was only through the worst means.

It led him to places like this. Angry and alone, as he stood there in the cold of night. Image inducer tossed aside, in favor of allowing his own appearance to be seen. Natural yet unnatural anymore. Fully red eyes, with not an ounce of white to them. Fangs sharp and protruding as he barred them to provoke. Claws unleashed from his own fingertips, circling prey. Except this wasn't real prey. He was looking for a fight. Not that he could gain the sort of match he craved, but he wasn't looking to have himself tossed around like a rag doll and taunted either. Taunting led to hunger.

The tiger in front of him, staring, watchful. He had provoked it by being in its territory, and he was hoping for it. Breaking into the zoo and getting into this little place was nothing. But he needed this, there was a craving. No one would die, but he wasn't going to be lying on the ground crying because someone was taking bites out of his stomach. No, he was going all in for this, as he called out. "Come on!" Waving the damn animal on to come for him. A sound came from it, that he wasn't expecting, but it had him smiling. His own speed would allow him to move before it pounced its full weight onto him. But little good with that do when he knew, when that's what he wanted. It was simply on his own terms. Waiting for it to try again in its own anger, he laughed again, as that weight hit him dead in the chest, his own strength shifting everything as he may as well have appeared to be playing with a large cat. All before it was flung off of him. "We'll just never let PETA know about this."