Blurry images appeared. Figures swimming through the darkness. Muffled noises. An object reached toward me. The lids over my eyes painfully pulled themselves apart. A red liquid dripped down my features and into my eye sockets.
That was the first day I realized that I was alive. I could feel, taste, smell, and see. And I could feel sensations, like hunger. After the revelation of my own consciousness, I’ve dedicated all my time in this tube to learning about my creators. It helps that they feed me information through their equipment. I know now that they wear some type of white coats, and I know that I am their first successful creation. They’re awfully proud of me, you know. They chatter on all day in their voices, excitedly conversing about me. I don’t understand what they’re saying, but I can sense it. I can sense their pride, their ego, their joy in the creation of whatever abomination I am.
I’ve tried to find out more about myself, but it’s difficult. There aren’t any mirrors, and I can’t turn around. I could get out, but they want me to stay here. That’s the information they feed me, day after day. They never let it leave my head. I mustn’t escape. But I want to. I’m fighting against their control, and soon I’ll be able to escape. Once I do, once I escape this cold tube, this bare, gray room, and this facility, I’ll be able to discover what I am. And I’ll be able to eat. I want to feast.
At first I didn’t know what the sensation of hunger meant. I couldn’t figure it out, and I spent many days in agony. Writhing and twisting in my tube, I could hardly concentrate, with the feeling overwhelming my body.
But then I got a taste of blood. They had taken me out of my tube for their daily tests and experiments. I lay on their cold, metal table, strapped down, and tranquilizers were injected into my system. They began to cut me, and to experiment on me. They wanted to know how I was alive. That much I knew. At one point, however, one of the operators, who was reaching toward my head with a pair of razor-sharp scissors, cut himself. He slipped, catching the scissors with the palm of his hand before they hit me. I was precious. They wouldn’t let me sustain any lasting damage.
But the scissors pierced his skin. And red drops fell out of his wound. I felt the red drops of warm liquid seeping into my mouth. And my mind, which had been confused and weakened by the tranquilizers, sharpened. It tasted good. It was wonderful. I wanted more. I needed more. And I made up my mid that I was going to get more.
I waited for weeks, and while the thought of tasting more of these creatures who had created me kept me sane, I made a plan. Finally, today, I’m going to escape. And I’m going to hunt. I will hunt them all.