...

Angie was shaking with anger. Anger she couldn't control, much less calm down. Her fists were tight as she kept her arms wrapped around her legs. She was in the corner of the room, where it was the darkest. She couldn't control much, except where she wanted to sit. She chose the darkest corner to make sure no one saw her. She didn't want anyone to see her this way, the blood still on her hands, because this wasn't Angie.

Time passed slowly. Angie wanted the anger to end. It was eating her up, and she was slowly falling prey to it.

It had only been seven minutes since Angie had sat down. She looked at the wall. She began to grind her teeth. Another minute passed. With a yell, Angie ran up to the wall and began to hit against it with her fists. Each additional yell meant another fist was hitting the wall. She felt the skin tear at the joints but still didn't stop. Then there was a loud crack. Then a pop. Then pain that shot up her arm. Angie stopped, she had to.

She took a few deep breathes and sank onto her knees, her head down. She glanced at her fists. They were quickly developing bruises. Her own blood was now mixed with the drying blood from the other inmate. Angie was beginning to feel the anger lessen.

There was a knock on the metal door. "Angela?" A female voiced asked. It seemed like she had been waiting.

"Yes?" Angie asked with relief noticeable in her voice.

"It's Michelle Abernathy, from the presentation. Along with my partner." She said. "May we come in?"

If Angie could open the door, she would. But she was the one in prison, she couldn't just open doors whenever she pleased. She was unsure of how to answer the question, but she liked that Abernathy still treated her like a person and not an inmate.

"Um, sure." She replied awkwardly and stood up.

A guard unlocked the door and opened it slowly. There stood the two people from the presentation.

"We aren't allowed to take you out of the cell so our discussion will have to be here." Abernathy explained.

They took a step inside the cell, the door stayed open.

"We were told that you had an...episode." Hayes began. "Can you tell us more about that?"

Angie wasn't sure where to begin. The event had no clear beginning. She simply overreacted to a small event and things went downhill from there. How could she clearly explain that?

She had to give them at least some kind of answer. So, she gave them the muddled answer. The answer that had no clear beginning, middle, or end. And hopefully, they could figure out what to do.

As Angie was telling the story, a thought flickered into her mind: Mari. Angie wasn't sure if she had come back yet from the hospital. Where was her friend, was she alright?

"Mari—Marisol," Angie blurted in the middle of her story. "Where is she? Is she still in the hospital?"

"We need you to continue about—" Abernathy started.

"No, not until I know she's alright!" Angie shouted unexpectedly. It was as if the anger was taking hold of her again.

Abernathy and Hayes looked at Angie, the small outburst was odd for Angie. She was usually calm unless there was a disagreement. Hayes took note of this. Then answered her question.

"Yes, she's still in the hospital. She should be back soon though."

"Oh okay, she's alright." Angie reassured herself. "She's alright."

...

Nothing had changed. Nothing had happened. They didn't give the girls another medication to combat the side effects or take them off it. They continued with the doses of vibranium zero as though nothing had happened. Marisol was healthy again, but she was scared. Scared of her own body. Angie was scared of her mind.

Marisol was afraid that her body would fail her again. That her organs would give out. Angie was scared that she might get angry again. That she'd hurt someone again. While nothing had changed, everything felt different.

...

"That inmate, Thompson, the one you beat up. You don't think she's angry or anything right?" Marisol had asked Angie. They were in the library, they had started going down there more often.

"No, everyone was pretty scared, she had to be too."

"You know how people can be though. Being embarrassed like that in front of everyone, she's gotta be mad."

Mari was worried to say the least. Where she came from embarrassment was nothing taken lightly. People would kill one another just to be respected again. That was the outside world, it could only be worse in prison.

"I'll be fine." Angie said trying to get off the subject. "Everything will be fine."

Such reassuring words yet Marisol felt anything but that.

...

"Yes something happened," Nakia admitted to Okoye over the phone. She tried to quiet her voice quiet so the other inmates wouldn't hear.

"What was it?" Okoye asked with concern.

"One woman became ill, the other...well," Nakia was at a loss for words. How could she describe what had happened to Angie? It was almost impossible to put into the correct words. "She had an episode of rage. It was horrifying."

"What did she do?"

"She began to fight another inmate. And she was beating her terribly; eventually the inmate was just lying there, she couldn't move. And she just kept hitting her. It had to be the vibranium, that wasn't her."

"Oh my—is she a danger to anyone else? If so we have to intervene."

"We can't intervene, not yet. She feels terrible about it though so she likely won't do it again. Unless another episode like that happens we can't do anything."

"Nakia," Okoye sighed. "I'm trusting you."

"You can trust me. I will take care of it. I just need more evidence that the vibranium zero is truly hurting them."

Nakia wanted to just give in, to tell Okoye that the vibranium was too dangerous and that the girls were a threat. But she couldn't. She needed to be sure and one incident wasn't enough.

...

It had been six weeks since the incidents. Marisol had trouble sleeping every night since then. Angie was always on her mind. But tonight was different.

Marisol's body was screaming for some sleep, her eyes felt heavy and she could barely keep them open. Yet every time her eyes closed, they snapped open again. She would lean slightly off her bed to check up on Angie. Just for a second or two. Then she'd continue looking up at the ceiling, trying to sleep.

Marisol was so close to falling asleep yet, once again she had the urge to look over at Angie. With a soft sigh, she turned to lean off her bed. To her surprise, she saw someone standing. At first she didn't recognize them. She tried to peer closer at any defining features. It was Thompson. There was no reason for her to be up so late.

Suddenly, in the dim light coming from the guard's area, she saw a harsh reflection of light in Thompson's hand. Worry rose in Marisol as she realized what she was holding: a shank. It had to be made from a mirror shard. And she was heading towards Angie.

Marisol knew what to do, she just wasn't sure if she could do it. But Angie was her friend, her best friend. Angie stood up for her when she wasn't around. Marisol had to do the same for her. She had to. Thompson was getting closer. Marisol had to do something, anything.

Marisol tried working up the courage. If she went over there, she'd most definitely end up in a fight. Not only was Marisol still weak, but she had no weapon either. But wasn't it worth the risk for Angie? Or was it better for Marisol to step away for her own well being?

Then, suddenly, adrenaline rushed through Marisol. Her heart racing, blood pumping. It was as though her body immediately went into flight or fight mode. And it chose fight.

Without another thought, she was running after Thompson. Strength Marisol didn't even know she had was coming from her as she jumped onto Thompson's back. Thompson began to thrash her arms around to find Marisol and get her off. Marisol panicked as the shank passed her face by mere centimeters. She tried to restrain Thompson's arm but to no avail. She threw her body from one side to the other in attempt to get her off her back. That's when Marisol called out for Angie, hoping she'd wake up and help. Although she tried being as quiet as possible as to not wake the other inmates.

Thompson decided to knock Marisol into the wall by running towards it backwards. A grunt of air escaped her and she felt a slash across her leg. But there was no pain, or a sting. She had just felt the sharp object glide across her skin. It began to bleed, but it was so unnoticeable that Marisol barely realized it happened. Upon realizing it though, her instincts kicked in once again. She grabbed Thompson's hair and began to hit her in the face as hard as possible. A few hits in and Marisol heard Thompson's nose crack.

Thompson yelled and fell to her feet while reaching for her nose; dropping the shank. Consequently, Marisol fell off her back. That's when she noticed a new wound. It was a deep stab wound. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and Marisol began to feel the stinging pain. It reminded her of when she got shot. She gripped her thigh, where the wound was, hoping it would alleviate some of the pain. The two of them were just a few feet away from Angie's bunk. Thompson was closer to her than Marisol was.

"I should've known to kill you first." Thompson muttered under her breath. Drops of blood hitting the floor. The shank glinting in the light, it was near Angie. "I might as well do it now."

Thompson knew the shank was too far to get now, so she opted to strangle Marisol. With the stab wound in her leg, she had to be even weaker than before. Thompson ran towards her. Marisol tried to kick her with her other leg but it was no use. Thompson put her weigh over Marisol. She couldn't move at all.

Thompson's hands wrapped around her throat and tightened immediately. Instinctively, Marisol grabbed her hands and tried to tear them away. The pressure increased more and more. Marisol coughed but air barely came out. She began to gasp, her body screaming for oxygen. More pressure. Her breathes were becoming shorter. Marisol's grip became more loose as her body couldn't keep up the strength anymore.

Then a tear slid down Marisol's cheek, because she was going to die. She was going to die in prison. She was going to die under the hands of a criminal. She was going to die because she tried protecting her best friend. And even then, it would've been for nothing. Because if Angie hadn't woken up then, Thompson was going to get to her. Marisol was going to die without ever being free again. Without saying goodbye to her family. Without saying goodbye to Angie. And those thoughts made her sad. So sad, all she could was cry. It was the only thing her body could do now. She had never felt so weak in her life. She'd die because she was so weak.

Her chest tightened up. Her lungs ached. Bruises were appearing on her throat. Thompson was smiling. She'd get double the revenge. Marisol's eyes were getting heavy.

She couldn't die like this. She had to try at least one more time. She shakily reached for Thompson's head. She increased the pressure on her throat even more. Marisol was hoping that she could get close enough to push into her eyes. Marisol put all her remaining strength into the effort. Her palm hit the side of Thompson's face and something happened. Something completely unexpected.

Angie heard a gurgling noise. She sat up to investigate, her vision still blurry. A few blinks and it cleared up. It took less than a beat for Angie to jump out of her bed. She saw Marisol's dark, wavy hair splayed out on the ground. That was worry enough for her to get out of bed. Without another thought, Angie threw her fist to the side of Thompson's head. She, of course, passed out but the situation was different. Odd would be a better word, because none of it made sense to Angie.

Thompson was out cold. Marisol had her eyes open, yet she appeared to be asleep. Her eye color had changed too. It was a blue. Similar to the color of vibranium zero. And the colors were moving, as if they were an ocean with a soft current.

"Mari?" Angie called gently. No reply.

She kneeled down to her. Angie was mesmerized by the effect in Mari's eyes. It was something that one could stare at forever. Then, like a light switch, Marisol blinked and it stopped. Her brown eyes returned.

"Where is it?!" She asked with urgency, immediately sitting up.

"What?" She put her hands on Mari's shoulders to gesture for her to slow down. Angie followed Mari's eyes to the shank on the floor. "Stay here."

Angie stood to go pick it up. As she reached down to pick it up, she heard movement. Just as she turned she heard Thompson speak.

"What did you do? How—How did you do that? You had no right to see that,"

Thompson went towards Marisol again. This time she delivered a punch right to her cheek.

Angie's anger kicked in again. Her fist clung tighter to the handle of the shank. She had an option, but it wasn't her only one. If she killed Thompson, the threat would be over with. But killing her would land her a longer sentence. Would she risk it? Angie could also just knock her out again. But that wouldn't remove the threat. And the anger—the wrath was making her lean towards one decision instead of the other.

Marisol didn't fight back. After what happened—what she had seen, how could she? It was unexplainable. Marisol had gone back in time—no that wasn't it. She had lived as Thompson, stepped into her shoes. It was mind bending and unbelievable.

Thompson tried once again to strangle Marisol. She climbed over her and wrapped her hands around her throat. Thompson's mind was all over the place. She couldn't believe what had happened. That memory was so suppressed, she never tried to think about it, much less relive it. That memory had haunted her for so long. Tears were streaming down her face. She hated that memory. Killing Marisol would be revenge, but now for another reason.

Angie didn't waste another moment. Seeing Thompson try to kill her best friend had triggered something within her. The wrath.

Marisol knew what Angie was going to do. She was unable to speak so she gave her the look to stop. She didn't want Thompson to die. She didn't want anyone to die. But a look wasn't enough. The look in Angie's eyes were much stronger anyway. Angie didn't hadn't wanted to kill anyone, she just wanted to protect her friend.

Now here they were, blood that wasn't her own on Marisol's face. A stab wound on Thompson's side. A weapon in Angie's hand, that she kept using, again and again on Thompson. And Nakia. She was asleep. The one time she was needed the most. She could've stopped it. She needed to stop it. But it was too late. It was too late for everyone.