Face it.

The fear of the scary-sounding unknown glanced off the girl on the path of war. She banged on the door with her fists to speed up whatever was going on instead. It was physically unpleasant, so she switched to verbal ****:

"Show me, bitch! Show yourself! Also fuck you! I'll unhinge you! I'll unhinge every fucking thing in this madhouse!"

Then the doors opened. Something big and black was there. She failed to remember more properties, as it shot itself at her a split second later, knocking her off her frozen feet. At first, Inga tried to fight it, but as she realized that she could not breathe, it suddenly made more sense to conserve her oxygen. The substance was liquidy at first, making sure it covered her every inch until solidifying into something very rubbery.

Somehow, she could breathe through it now, but still could not see or hear anything. Could not feel the floor she was clearly on, even though it was supposed to be so cold. The fight resumed, but dealing damage to this strange suit was not that easy from the inside. She could barely reach her head, let alone tear something off of it. She wanted to bite it, but it would not let her open her mouth.

Then a lot of hissing occurred, and the suit started inflating, forcing her limbs into a spread eagle. Everything creaked from the mounting inner pressure trying to spread the thick rubber layer supported by outer ribs.

"Mmmmm-MMMMM!" — Inga was helpless to stop the suit from containing her and her anger once and for all. It smelled like tires and it was tight as if she was **** into a car tire. She could feel she was significantly inflated, but definitely not with lighter-than-air gases, as the suit was too heavy for her to even turn to her side.

"MMMMMMMMM!" — she could let it all out, whatever remained of her fighting spirit. Nothing was going to save her from the consequences of her mistake of angering the wrong closet.

"Threat contained. Further property damage avoided. Initiating spatial repair procedures."

ENDING #RAGE-1