GuNNhead

“You need this chemical solution.”

That’s what he told me, my doctor. I came to him with cancer, and the entire time I was his patient, I never could tell that he was completely insane. He led me to believe that it was a new experimental test for a treatment to cancer. I was so excited to have such a high possibility of a cure, I started right away. I trusted my doctor so much; it never once crossed my mind to question him or the treatment at all.

Now, life’s different for everyone, but I really did start feeling better on the weekly injections, and I saw the x-rays, he said it was going away. Then, one day after an injection, he advised that I stay overnight in the hospital, because there was something that was worrying him about my x-ray. When I woke up the next day, I was tied to a wooden table with chains in a dingy cellar. I heard a large metal door slowly opening; the doctor came down the stairs, greeting me with a looming smile. I was still groggy at the time, and had not the wherewithal to ask what was going on, but I recall that he injected me with more of his chemical solution.

The next few months were a blur of excruciating pain. Medical tests and exams of all sorts, blood samples; fairly standard hospital procedures carried out in this stone and wood prison. Soon, however, he took samples of my flesh daily, and it grew back just as fast as he removed it, though this did not heal the agony of the procedures. Shortly thereafter, he became more bold in his tests, removing whole limbs and sitting there watching them grow back, just sitting and watching. I do not know if it was his in intentions from the beginning of the experiment, but he began to eat my flesh, cooking it, or sometimes eating it raw, in front of me; snacking on pieces while he performed further analysis of what has become of me. It got to a point where he had four meat-grinders attached to my arms and legs, working as fast my limbs could regrow. For this, he upped the dosage of the chemical solution.

My body eventually began to change shape, into something monstrous. He noticed this, and soon stopped injecting his chemical solution or eating my body. Once I had regrown fully, I felt completely energized again, though I was not eating. It was when I felt my own hunger for the first time in a long time that I began to gain the mental capacity to attempt an escape. To my surprise, the chains snapped easily by the force of my new might. I ran up the stairs, smashing out the door. It was night, and I quickly made my way out of his house, into the city. Seeing my own reflection in a store window was disturbing to say the least. I had become a huge, hulking figure, my teeth were long and jagged, with my canines being the most exaggerated, the bottom two fully escaping my mouth and up past my sunken-in nose. I spent two weeks on the streets, killing and eating two men approximately my size for their clothes. I could not help myself, every human I saw at that point was as tempting as a cheeseburger or pizza used to be. After finishing my second meal in one sitting instead of rationing it over a period of time, though, my head become clear once more, and I made the realization that I must travel back to the Doctor’s house, so that he can not do what he has done to me again, or, worse, make himself into such a creature. No, I must be the only one. Sneaking in once more at night, I had returned to find him downstairs in his lab, a misshapen and malformed creature that could barely move under its own strength. Perhaps it was a side-effect from eating my already body tainted by the chemical solution, though evidence suggested that during the two weeks I was gone, he had been injecting himself.

I tore him to pieces.

I buried his pieces miles apart.

I took his house for myself; there is no cure for me, just like there are no cures for the ills of humanity. There is too much evil in the world, in my city; from now on, I will feast upon the evil of this city, I will be her mighty night predator.