[Bulging Biceps] You don't make for easy prey.

You turn back just in time to see the thug swing his bat, aimed at your head; you duck under it with the speed and agility afforded by your enhanced musculature, and quickly move in to grab the mugger. Shocked by your advance, he manages to keep out of your dooming grip enough to make some distance and swing his bat into your ribs. You feel that, and the cracking noise of wood on bone satisfies him... and enrages you. Your hand flies to grip the bat before he can withdraw it and, with a snarl, you rip it from his hands and towards the prostitute who's still searching for something else to use against you. Too distracted by all of Devi's widgets, she doesn't see the bat coming; it slams against her forehead, and the little scam artist is out like a light.

"Fucking shit-!" is all the gangbanger gets out before he reaches for his crotch, his hand finding the chrome-plated handle there. It isn't even out of its "holster" by the time you're back on top of him, one hand gripping the back of his hair... and the other, as you twist your body, going to punch his head. You're not trained in any martial arts, and your anger is too all-consuming to let you consider your actions. You barely even recognize the gun enough to think ahead and try to grab that instead. What you do have is a memory of a party brawl with a drunk friend, and how you kept his head steady just to make the target easy to punch. But you're not that kid anymore. The fact that you're standing at his left, you've gripped his head with your right, and now deliver an awkward cross with your empty fist as your body twists... and his jaw dislocates, but still manages to carry twist his head with the blow. The average, healthy extent that the human head should turn is seventy degrees in either a left or right direction. Excessive strain beyond this, especially if the head is turned at an angle, can cause injury, even ****. This is more about anatomy than you're actually aware, so when the opposing motions twist his skull nearly 130 degrees, it is only the sickening pop, felt in the hand gripping his head and heard throughout the apartment, that explains why the intruder crumbles to the ground, exhaling his last breath.

Breathe. You're alive, and it's over. Breathe.

You killed a man. Your breaths are shallow and come in short bursts... and then shorter. You haven't had anxiety attacks in years, but now, as you stare between the prostitute bleeding from her forehead, and the gangbanger's limp body while his head is folded under him unnaturally, your hands trembling, the sound of someone from Devi's apartment coming to investigate-

You rush into your kitchen, and vomit into the sink.