Taylor woke with a grunt, found that most of his gym had collapsed around him, and in fact both of his arms had been crushed.
He grunted again and at up, ignoring the blood running down with his face. He shook himself, his dead arms flopping uselessly. ‘Hm. Good. Get to practice killing things with my feet.’
He stood, and found that standing was in fact a hard thing to when dizzy. He growled at the dizziness and it subsided, knowing when it was bested. He made a move toward the door, careful not to trip over the remnants of his gym, the various pieces of felled equipment or indeed, fire. Though with the fire, it wasn’t so much falling over it as it was growling at it until it extinguished itself in shame.
He moved into the wreckage of his office – happy that it had remained untouched. The desk was exactly where it had been when he’d thrown it around looking for a pen, the chair only had the tears in the fabric in it from when it had failed to mold to meet his butt correctly. It was a mess, one that Magnolia should have cleaned up, but it meant that the explosion hadn’t reached in there.
He kicked open the door, not because he needed to, but because the door deserved some punishment. If his office hadn’t been so weak, it would have thrown itself in the way of the gym and taken at least some of the flack, so maybe at least he’d have one functional arm. Killing things with feet was fun, but there were so many things that only hands could do.
Like prisoner topiary. Or bonsai.
He grunted and moved down the hallway, kicking in each recruit dorm room as he walked down the hall. Most of his recruits were already awake, and dressing in appropriate gear for the situation. Whatever the situation was. He had to yell at one recruit, loudly explaining that although the situation was currently unknown, a chef’s uniform, complete with stupid hat, was likely no the appropriate gear.
He had, however, let that particular recruit continue to carry around the meat cleaver. Meat cleavers were very useful things, and this made him sad – well, it would have, if he could have felt sad, but that was a weakness, so therefore he was incapable of feeling it – it made him angry, as without working arms or hands, he would be unable to carry around a cleaver.
He briefly considered having the recruit cut off one of his hands and replacing it with the cleaver, but that would have left him with nothing but an inefficient flail, and if he was going to lose a hand, it would not be to create a flail. Flails were stupid, mainly because of their name, it sounded stupid, so therefore they were stupid.
He continued down the hall, finally finding his way to Magnolia’s room. He kicked in the door and stomped into the room. ‘Recruit, this is going to cost you.’
The room was empty.
‘This is no time for jokes.’
The room still remained empty.
‘You are required. Appear.’
The room failed to comply, even when he growled at it. He growled louder, then turned and left, reminding himself to punish her later – there was no excuse for not being present during an emergency. Even if she was dead. Especially if she was dead – zombies were good fighters, movies had taught him that, and she was strong already, so a zombie-Magnolia would be even stronger.
His thoughts turned to killing her if he found her alive, just so he could-
His thoughts turned to pain as someone cut his arm off.
Reminder: This is non-canon, just a bit of fun.