Born Of A Broken Man Rage Against The Machine Novels & Stories

“There are other men. Other families. Sons who can be adopted. If my own blood refuses to listen, refuses to obey, then I will find someone who will. Someone who understands that sentiments have no place in our world.” The fury that rose in me was hot, violent, blinding. I tossed back the last drop of whiskey, slammed the glass on the table, and stood. My voice shook with rage. “Then do it. Find your obedient little puppet. See how far it gets you.” I turned on my heel. “I’ve got somewhere to be. Show yourself out when you’re done.” I didn’t wait for his reply. I stormed out, every muscle in my body taut, every nerve on fire.

The veins in his neck bulged, his face red and slick with sweat as he smashed himself against the bars like a man possessed. I didn’t flinch. To anyone else, his frenzy might have been terrifying. But to me, it was pathetic. “Look at you.” I said flatly, my voice cutting through his screams like ice, “You’re not untouchable. You’re broken, broken into pieces like clay destroyed at the hands of its creator. You are nothing, Calloway. Absolutely nothing.”

She wants to be able to show me, to re-show me, to prove to the world that she even possesses Mike Donaghue. My rage rekindles, transforms. It's no longer a chaotic explosion. It condenses, becomes a black diamond, hard and sharp. A tool. They think they've won. They think they've broken me. They're wrong. A knee on the ground is not a defeat. It's a starting position. It's from there you push the hardest to get back up. I will get back up. But not to flee. To conquer. How do you break a spoiled child? How do you bend a will that has never been thwarted?

“I heard she nearly died months back. Serves her right, don’t you think, son? Women deserve to be broken if they don’t know their place.” Just like that, the cold fear from my past dissolved under the molten heat of the accumulated rage simmering from deep, deep within my psyche. The pained rage of childhood me going from therapist to therapist. The vengeful rage of teenage me slipping into the dark side to deal with the trauma within me. The deadly rage of adult me, itching to murder the man who made me so damaged and unable to love, protect and care. All of that rage combined, was like a drug. And I was fucking high on it.

frame ready for "Mechanical Violence." "You are 'Broken' now, Ethan," Mikhail sneered. "You have 'Loyalty.' You have 'Love.' These are 'System-Errors' in a fighter. Seven years ago, I turned you into a 'Ruthless' machine. Now, you are just a father. A father is a 'Functional' liability." The Friction of the First Strike

but like a prayer. Something broke in me then. A broken heart, sharp edges I didn’t know how to hold without bleeding. I poured myself a glass of water, but my hands shook so hard I spilled half of it across the counter. My body felt foreign—trembling, unsteady, weak. But it wasn’t weakness. It was rage. A rage so deep it scared me. Because what kind of man aims a gun at a child? What kind of father—grandfather—hunts his own blood?

I could hear everything but nothing as I stood, completely rooted to the spot as I looked at the lifeless body of my mate, and the lifeless body of the familiar wolf a little distance away from her. My mother. Then I suddenly began to break. At the time, I hadn’t known what was happening. I had simply welcomed the physical pain that replicated the breaking of my heart. I screamed in pain as my bones began to break and continued to scream until I couldn’t anymore. Then I had heard a voice. A powerful voice that had echoed in my head. “Let me help you”, the voice had said, and embracing the pain and anger, I had let him. That was how I had gotten Rage.

The ones who let my child die. I saw red. I couldn’t think anymore. I couldn’t feel anything else. Only rage.. Pain. Only hate. I didn’t know where the strength came from— But I moved. Fast. My fist clenched tightly as I rushed forward. “You killed him! Return my baby to me!” I screamed, my voice breaking. Then I threw the punch— “Return my baby— Ahhh!”

And for the first time since the crash, I felt the thing inside me, the wolf, the rage, the mother who’d lost everything, stretch her claws and bare her teeth. I was still broken. But broken things can still cut. And I was ready to bleed the world dry.

complex that needed to be fed because someone felt that they had the right to destroy lives to stroke their ego. It made him sick and as he downed another shot he felt his fractured heart break a little more. Two days, Machine thought. Two days and then I have to tell the club that we were betrayed. Two days and I may have to uproot innocent people who were starting to get their lives back to normal. Machine laughed and shook his head at that thought. What the fuck was normal anyway? These people were being trained to defend themselves from a madman’s ego because no one else gave a fuck enough to be concerned when they went missing. Thirty fucking people who were sold into a life of slaver